My Heart Is In You
by bonnyblonde
Summary: Connor MacManus is without his twin brother, and is compelled to leave Boston in search of something undefinable. Carol Peletier has left behind the people she once thought of as family, and the man she loved more than any other. Both are searching for something more in a world that has robbed them of everything. Carol/OFC and Caryl, too.
1. Chapter 1

_I have recently suffered a crisis of faith in terms of the Caryl ship, I must admit. I've decided that Daryl maybe needs a little competition in order to better appreciate the woman who has given her all to help him survive/thrive in the new world, and who better than a man facing his own complicated situation? Things are rarely black and white, and so I'm hoping to explore the strength of Carol/Daryl's actual relationship, and whether or not our beloved archer is really the man she needs..._

_Humour me, both TWD and BDS fans. I can't NOT write fanfic, but my Caryl feels have been bruised and battered in recent weeks and so I've had to adapt. _

* * *

**Chapter 1**

On its most humid, fiercely hot day, Boston couldn't hope to compete with what Connor was now being forced to endure in Georgia. Oh and for sure there had been times when he and Murph had been nearly roasted outta their dank little flat when summer had turned its full force on that storied city, but at its worst it didn't come close to the living hell that was July in the rural south. The air around him was utterly motionless, carrying a scent of death so thick that Connor felt as though his throat and lungs were coated with it. Even the branches of the trees around him seemed weighed down by the heat, drooping in surrender as the sun beat mercilessly down around them. If he needed further proof that the End of Days had arrived and Hell had been unleashed – besides the fact that the dead had risen and were walking the Earth again, that was – the unbearable furnace in which he was now baking alive was it.

He dragged himself over to a rickety shack close to the road and hunkered down in the meagre comfort of the shade it cast upon the grass, swiping the sweat from his brow with the kerchief he'd stuffed in his back pocket. There'd been times when he'd bitched about the weather back in Ireland, how the rain sometimes seemed unending in those distant days in Kenmare, but he'd have given almost anything to be drenched in a downpour let loose from those same grey skies, and have the blessed water wash away the stench and the filth that had seeped through every pore of his skin these past weeks.

But the chances of seeing Ireland again were almost as out of reach as a trip to the moon. There were no more planes flying the shimmering blue skies, no cargo ships or cruise liners sailing those vast and stormy seas. There would be no going home, no gazing out over a frothy ocean, no more rides through lush meadows on horseback while tending sheep...and worst of all, no more Murphy.

When the sickness had first begun, both McManus boys had been frantic to get back to their mother, wanting to protect her from both the disease and those afflicted with it. While boarding the plane that was departing Logan Airport for Shannon, Ireland, Connor had been held back at security because he'd registered a higher temperature when passing through the fever detection equipment. He'd urged Murphy to go on, had told him that he'd follow soon as he was able. Little had he known that only a few days later, there'd be no more flights leaving Logan or any airport in the world as authorities battled vainly to contain the virus that had swiftly laid waste to almost the entire human race.

That final moment, staring despondently into Murphy's eyes from opposite sides of the security gate, haunted him still. The younger twin was scared and uncertain, torn between the love and duty he felt towards his mother and the powerful bond he shared with Connor. The boys had never been apart since the day they'd been born, not for more than an hour or two at most. Connor had given him as reassuring a smile as he'd been able, even while he felt his heart being torn in two, and turned away so he didn't have to watch his brother leave alone. Murphy had made it as far as Ireland; Connor had been able to find out that much at least from the airline. But there'd been no further word from Murph after the plane had landed, no phone call back to the flat to tell him all was well and that the two people he cherished more than anyone else were safe.

He'd stayed in Boston for two years following the outbreak, helping keep the few scattered survivors he found alive and mercifully cutting down the walking dead in their tracks. Connor knew every corner of the city – knew where it was safe to hide, where food was to be found, what escape routes were to be had when his way was blocked by either the damned or the ruthless gangs who frowned on having their stashes raided. During that time, he'd tried to fill the hole in his life with the daily tasks of survival, embracing each struggle and setback in an attempt to redeem himself. Surely he'd committed some grievous sin to be parted from his brother and punished as he was...surely if he proved himself penitent and humble, if he devoted himself to the care and protection of others, mercy would be bestowed upon him, and he and Murphy would somehow find their way back to one another again.

Just as his faith began to waiver and despair threatened to engulf him in its black, clammy fist, Connor had felt _it_ again: The C_alling, _the divine illumination that had first set the brothers on their path as saintly avengers so many years before. It was words but not words that came to him during his darkest hour, an inherent understanding more than a set of instructions of what was required of him.

He was to leave Boston and travel south. No explanation was provided beyond that and none was requested. Gathering what few supplies were left to be had, he set out on what ended up being a month-long journey. From time to time, he found a vehicle with a bit of petrol that would ease his travels for a while, but he walked for the most part. It was easier to skirt the dangers along the way when he could be nimble on his feet, and a vehicle could always be heard through the heavy silence that had descended upon the Earth. He seemed to know his way without thinking of it, trusting both his heart and otherworldly forces to lead him true.

Without warning, the compulsion to trek forth had abandoned Connor entirely when he reached the decrepit little town in which he now found his dubious respite. It was where he was meant to be, he assumed, although the purpose of his arduous quest had yet to reveal itself.

He tipped his head back against the worn wood of the hut, scanning the surrounding area as he took a few sips of his water. The building he was leaning against was on the edge of some kind of farm, the yard vast and wide open save for a few ancient trees on the periphery. What had once been a charming home with white-planked siding looked forlorn and deserted in a way that only buildings could, waiting for occupants who would never return. Nature had quickly reclaimed parts of the property, the native grasses and weeds infringing on what he suspected had previously been a well-manicured lawn. He frowned slightly to himself when he noticed five or six piles of dirt scattered in apparently random locations. From where he sat, the mounds looked too small for graves and weren't marked in any way. Connor took a last drink of water and got back on his feet, his curiosity piqued.

There was a buzzing sound that grew louder with each step he took towards the closest heap of soil, and the cloyingly sweet odour of rot that seemed omnipresent got even stronger. A faint breathy hiss could be heard and Connor slowed down, his instincts on high alert as he proceeded with all due caution.

On the opposite side of the dirt pile, he discovered a pit – not deep, maybe only three or four feet, but it was lined with sharpened stakes that pointed straight up. Impaled upon said stakes was a writhing, recently-deceased corpse, its tattered clothes crawling with both flies and maggots that were lazily feasting on its dark, sticky bodily fluids. When it sensed that Connor was crouching at the edge of the hole, it tried frantically to free itself from the sharpened spears of wood that had pierced its body in at least three places but to no avail. Whoever had dug the trap had known exactly how to angle the stakes so they'd pierce and hold fast anything that fell upon them.

Where he might once have felt pity for the creature in the trench and put it out of its misery, ammunition was too dear to waste on one as no longer presented a threat and there was no feckin' way he was going to climb down and give it a chance at a last supper. "Guess ya made a bollocks of it, didn't ya?" Connor mumbled at the twitching carcass. It may have once been human but it was well past the point where it could be touched by what compassion he had left in him to give.

He stood and gazed around the farmyard, giving the area far more scrutiny than when he'd first arrived. Clearly the place hadn't been completely abandoned; the dirt hadn't been compacted over the winter, certainly, and he'd venture a guess that whoever had taken so much time and effort to fortify their defences wouldn't have simply walked away. His eyes were drawn back to the house and he squinted at it, wondering if it hadn't purposely been made to look more dilapidated than it was so as to discourage more inquisitive passers-by.

What was in the house that was worth protecting in such a crafty way? Intrigued, he hadn't taken more than two steps towards the farmhouse when a rifle sounded and a puff of dust appeared only a few inches in front of his foot where the shell struck earth. He stopped in his tracks and went perfectly still, slowly lifting his hands to demonstrate that his intentions were anything but hostile.

"You can stop right there and turn around now," came a female voice, made faint by virtue of distance. There was no fear in her tone, only confidence and a calm sort of menace. "I'd rather not kill you but I won't hesitate to do so if you come any closer."

Connor smiled slightly and raised his arms a little higher, finally spotting the barrel of the long-range rifle poking out between the gauzy curtains of a top story window. "Boys oh boys," he muttered under his breath. He didn't know if she was full of wind and piss, or was actually ready to cut him down where he stood. "Jaysus, luv – don't be vexed. I mean ya no harm!"

"You'd be surprised at how often I hear that, and how seldom it's actually true," she called back almost casually, and he could hear the distant click as she chambered another shell. "It would be a serious mistake on your part to test my patience. Move on."

He sighed wearily and dropped his hands. "If you're gonna do it, then get to it. Been on the road nigh on four weeks now and I'm damned near dead on me feet anyhow. I've nowhere left to go, so this is as good a place as any to end it." If she truly meant to mow him down, he decided, she'd have done so without bothering with talk.

There was no reply to his latest gambit, though, and so Connor was left waiting to see whether he'd truly reached the end of the road or had only begun another leg of his journey.


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you for the reviews I've received so far! I know this story is a bit of a departure from my usual fare, but I have hope you'll find it every bit as satisfying in the long run._

_I want to apologize upfront for my attempts (which I'm sure are inadequate) to capture Connor's lovely Irish accent during his dialogue. I don't mean to offend anyone and I'm not trying to play to any stereotypes, but I can hear it in my mind as I'm typing and so am trying to portray Connor as authentically as possible. Please forgive me and suspend disbelief if you would (or better yet, go watch BDS or BDS II and get that voice stuck in your head so that you can hear him yourself despite my writing!)_

_A short chapter but I promise more to come soon!_

* * *

**Chapter 2**

The screen door burst open with a long, rusty squeal and then slammed shut as a silver- haired elfin beauty emerged from the house, her rifle still steadily trained on Connor as she descended the steps and made her way across the barren yard.

He stood in stupefied silence and tried to reconcile her delicate fey-like presence with the mental image he'd conjured upon hearing her commanding voice. As her long, slender legs ate up the distance between them, he fixed her age as being close to his own, a fact that in no way detracted from her loveliness. If anything, it added to her appeal. Simpering shallow girls who were all smiles and no brains had never turned his head, but there was much to be said for a woman who exuded such poise, intelligence and maturity.

When she got close enough that he could see her stunningly pale blue eyes – but not so close that he'd have any chance of disarming her, clever thing – he sensed both sadness and strength in her guarded expression. "Why'd you stop here?" she demanded suspiciously, raking her gaze over him from head to toe.

He'd have liked to be flattered at her attention but he was fairly sure she was far more interested in figuring out how well armed he was than in admiring his physical attributes. "Seemed as good a place as any to start me search," he replied with simple honesty. He pulled off his knapsack and tossed over so it landed at her feet, then pivoted slowly in a circle so she could see he wasn't carrying a weapon beyond what was tucked into his belongings.

She grabbed the pack and backed away a few meters, keeping a cautious eye on him as she tugged it open and emptied the contents onto the ground. Her eyebrow arched slightly when she saw the twin Berettas he always carried, along with Murph's jagged-ass hunting knife and a long coil of dark nylon rope that spilled forth with his other supplies. "What are you searching for?"

Connor gave her his most disarming smile and shrugged. "Won't know 'til I find it, now, will I?"

The dainty pixie narrowed her eyes at him, clearly not quite so charmed as he might have hoped. "I'm not interested in playing games with you," she informed him coolly. "Give me a real answer instead of another riddle, or you can get the hell off my place right now."

He sighed resignedly. "Like I told ya, been on the road for no less den a month, haven't I? And I'm not tryin' to be coy wit' ya – I walked 'til I felt like I found where I needed ta be. Can't give you more explanation, I'm afraid. Just feel like whatever 'tis I need ta find will be hereabouts."

She regarded him with frank appraisal for a few moments before cursing quietly under her breath. Her shoulders relaxed slightly and she lowered the rifle barrel a bit, stepping back so he could retrieve his possessions and re-pack them. "You can stay a couple of nights in the granary just past the corrals," she relented. "I haven't enough food to share, so you'll have to make do with whatever you can pick, catch or hunt on your own. There's rainwater in the barrel by the barn for washing and drinking water can be pumped directly from the well. If I see you within fifty feet of the house, I'll shoot you. And if you somehow make it all the way to the porch without me noticing...well, let's just say that while the traps I set for the walkers might seem obvious and crude, you won't live long enough to know what hit you if you cross my threshold without permission."

While her tone remained very matter of fact, the underlying threat was unmistakable. Not that Connor blamed her in the least. From the way she spoke, it became clear to him that she was a woman alone in a world fraught with danger and she had to do whatever was necessary to survive. Underestimating her well-developed sense of self-preservation would in all likelihood be detrimental to his health. "Thank ye. You've nuttin' to fear from me. I'll respect yer rules; ye have me word on it."

She gave him haughty smile. "I don't need your word; I have a gun. I learned the hard way that trusting someone is a sure way to get your ass kicked, and I've no intention of allowing anyone to betray me again. Nothing personal, Mister...uh..."

"No 'mister' needed, ye can call me Connor," he said solemnly. "If you don't mind me sayin' so, that be a mighty dim view of humanity ye've taken. Not everybody is out ta hurt ye, luv."

"Well, then," she said dryly. "With all due respect to your sunny sense of optimism, _Connor_, let's just say that experience has shown me different and leave it at that."

She turned away from him and started making her way to the house. "Wait!" he called out, and she stopped to look inquisitively back over her shoulder. "Can I at least get a name in return? I'd hate to be callin' ye 'Ay, you!' while I'm fortunate enough to be enjoyin' your kindness and hospitality."

She pressed her lips tightly together, and he could see she was unsure of whether to share the truth with him or not. "Carol," she finally revealed. "It's Carol."

His heart shifted in his chest and he felt a warm, familiar light well from deep within. Whatever the reason, whatever the plan he was being called to carry out, her very name was an indisputable sign that he was on the right track. "Carol? Like a beautiful hymn, ye mean?"

There was a flash of pain in her lovely eyes, brief but impossible to miss, and it made the avenging angel he'd once been want to lay a beating on whoever had put it there. "No," she said stoically, "nothing like that at all." She straightened her shoulders and walked briskly away from him, off to see to her own business while he saw to his.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

There was an easy rhythm to manual labour that eased both Connor's mind and body. Put another log on the block...raise the axe over his head...drive it into the wood, splitting it down the centre...kick the pieces aside and start again. It was almost soothing, hearing the steady thunk and resounding crack, feeling the vibration of each strike through the muscles of his bared arms and shoulders, having a sense of accomplishing something concrete and useful over the course of the day.

His tank top clung to his torso, drenched in a sweat that would never cool him down given the unholy humidity of the place. He set his axe on the ground and tilted the handle against the chopping block before wandering over to a bucket of water he'd pumped. He filled and gulped down a few cups full of the sweet, cool liquid before dumping the rest of it over his head. As he was scrubbing at his face and working the water through his short dark hair, he saw movement behind of the curtains in Carol's upstairs window and turned his back, smiling slyly at having caught her watching him yet again.

The few days' grace she'd promised him had gradually become weeks, a tacit agreement forming between them that had him staying on so long as he earned his keep around the farm. She was careful to maintain her distance, though, even refusing an escort when she went scavenging for supplies in town. She'd taken to sharing whatever non-perishables she found on her runs and had gone so far as to provide him proper bedding for his cot in the granary, but she only ever responded to his friendly attempts at conversation with the fewest, tersest words possible. He'd still not been invited to visit the house, but maybe that was a liberty she simply wouldn't ever be prepared to grant. It was too soon to tell.

When she thought he wasn't looking, though, Carol would stare at him as though trying to solve some incomprehensible mystery. Connor had been careful not to push the boundaries she'd established, both those she'd set out that first day and those that remained unspoken but were equally stringent. He wondered, and not for the first time, who it was that had wounded her so badly that she held herself in such cold reserve. He might never find out; they both had their secrets, and were well and truly entitled to them too. What he did know that being with her felt _right_ all the way to his very soul. Until such time as that changed, he wasn't going anywhere.

That's not to say his patience was infinite, however, and he'd decided that very morning that while it was certainly her prerogative to try and keep him at arm's length, he wasn't going to let that stop him from finding ways to draw her closer to _him_.

He'd started picking up the chunks of split wood so he could pile them closer to the house when he heard Carol push her way out of the squeaky screen door and glimpsed her skipping lightly down the stairs. She had a bucket in hand and her knife in its sheath on her hip, and she valiantly attempted to ignore him as she strode purposefully towards the bushes to pick the swiftly ripening crop of wild huckleberries.

"Oi! Carol! Wait up a sec, would ya?" he hollered, tossing the wood back on the ground and trotting after her. She stumbled to a halt and her eyes widened with something akin to distress as he moved closer, and he could see that she was fighting the impulse to abandon the pail and hightail it back to the house before he could actually get near enough to speak to her. In testament to her self-restraint, though, she stuck her ground and instead glared at him, giving him as much encouragement to approach as she might a slavering wolf.

"Connor...I'd...well, thank you for cutting more wood," she said stiffly, her eyes skipping furtively over his sodden shirt and sweaty arms. "It's...I really appreciate all you do."

He smiled at her and clapped his hands together, causing her to startle. It wasn't that she was afraid of him, he understood – what really terrified her was making a connection with another human being. And here he was, pushing her well out of her comfort zone. "Snared me a brace of cottontails for dinner tonight. Gonna roast 'em on a spit, thought ya might like to join me in some barbecued bunny."

"Oh, I don't think that's such a good..." she began, the refusal as automatic as he'd known it would be.

He interrupted her, pairing his words with a gaze of rueful, exaggerated disappointment. "Look. Ya gotta eat and there's far too much for me alone. Would be a shame to be wastin' fresh food when it's at hand, not to mention burnin' double the wood to cook two separate meals. Save whate'er tin ya was gonna open fer some other night and take advantage of the bounty that nature's provided."

It was obvious she could think of no graceful way out of his invitation, not when he'd made her feel guilty for wasting not only his efforts as a trapper but burning fuel she'd be in desperate need of once the weather turned colder. Carol heaved a resigned sigh and closed her eyes for a few seconds. "Fine. That would be...fine," she said through gritted teeth. "I'll come by the fire pit just before sunset, then."

"Grand!" he exclaimed, elated by his small yet significant victory. He'd half expected her to tell him to hump off, so even her reluctant agreement was sweet music to his ears. "I'll be seein' ya later. Right and I'd best be gettin' back to work."

Finally taking pity on her, Connor turned on heel and headed off to take up his axe again, infused with new enthusiasm for the task at hand. He might have had to be cute about it but he'd got his way in the end. It had been pretty devious, true enough, but he'd done what he had with the very best of intentions – even if they weren't entirely selfless.

* * *

Although much of the world had descended into ugliness and chaos, there was beauty to be found. It was dusk and the sun still shone a blistering gold, a molten disc that seemed to shimmer as it slowly sunk towards the horizon. The clouds that stretched from there to the point above Connor's head were splashed with a hundred blazing shades of orange, purple and blue, growing gradually darker in hue the further east one looked. A company of night birds sang a reveille to the day whilst a band of crickets rehearsed their own tune for the approaching twilight, and the enticing scent of meat cooking over pecan logs wafted around him.

He crouched low so he could prod at the fire, shifting the wood around a bit so the flame wouldn't flare up too high and singe their dinner. His thoughts wandered and as was so often the case when he had a few idle minutes, his brother came to mind.

Connor didn't doubt that Murphy was still alive; he'd have known, would have felt it if something horrific had happened and his sibling had perished. But there were times when merely the absence of Murph in his life was almost too difficult to bear, and the hollow ache in Connor's heart grew ever deeper with the certain knowledge that barring a miracle of some kind, they'd seen the last of one another. Even though it had been over two years since they'd parted, Connor still found himself wanting to share some small amusement with Murphy, or waiting for a few seconds to hear his brother finish a thought for him. He fought his grief, knowing that nothing good could come from wallowing in such, but the loss felt as raw and new as the day it had happened, and sometimes he was helpless to keep the sadness at bay.

Laying down the iron and retreating to his chair, Connor slumped further down as he stared at the flickering orange flame taking lazy licks at the fat rabbits on the spit. Where was Murph now? Was he thinking of Connor, wondering what had happened to him back in Boston? What Connor wouldn't give to talk to him, just for a minute, and revel in that bond of friendship and brotherhood that had defined their entire lives.

"It never goes away, does it?"

Connor's heart gave a little jump in his chest, caught off guard as he was at Carol's sudden arrival. He'd been so far into his own head that he'd not even heard her coming, and he mentally scolded himself for his inattention. He was damned lucky it was her and not someone – or _something_ – else who'd come upon him in such a pathetic state. After all he'd been through, it would be a feckin' shame to die now and with no excuse save that of being mired in sentimental self-pity.

"What's dat?" he asked quietly, his eyes drawn to where she stood on the edge of the firelight.

Her expression was sorrowful, and her face seemed softer and kinder than he had yet witnessed. She was hugging herself with her arms, rubbing the sleeves of her woolly grey jumper to keep back the chill that was slowly settling around them. "When you lose someone you love, that feeling doesn't just disappear. I know everyone says that time heals all wounds, but I don't think that necessarily true. The hurt isn't as sharp after a while, maybe, but you always carry it around with you. And when you're tired or alone, it sneaks up and overwhelms you again."

"How'd ya know?" Connor cleared his throat, his voice a little too thick with emotion for his liking. He blinked hard a couple of times; damned if the smoke wasn't making him all teary, too. "That I lost someone, I mean?"

Carol wandered over to the chair opposite him, her eyes meeting his over the glow of the embers "I've seen the look a lot since all this started; unfortunately, I think almost everybody I've met has experienced what you're going through to either a greater or lesser degree."

"Ya speakin' fer yerself now, luv?" he murmured, knowing before he even asked what the answer was.

She dropped her gaze to her hands and began fiddling anxiously with the sleeves of her sweater. Her silence spoke volumes and he was well aware that to push her would be a mistake that would undo every baby step she'd taken with him today. If she wanted to share her story, she'd do so in her own good time, and only an arsehole would choose to force the issue.

He rose from his chair and squatted in front of the fire again, drawing his knife and testing the doneness of the meat. "Looks like dinner's ready," he said as cheerfully as he could manage. "Wish I coulda served it up with some colcannon like Ma used ta make, but guess we'll make due wit' what we got."

"What's colcannon?" Carol said after a few seconds, relaxing a bit in view of the fact that he'd moved on to a less weighty topic. She watched with interest as he removed the game from the fire and worked the rabbits off of the stick, doling the servings out onto two separate tin plates.

"Mmmm...got spuds, cabbage, and onion in it," he replied, sighing happily in memory of meals past as he handed Carol her share. "Damned fine, too. Mebbe if we can find a garden 'round here, some of that stuff might yet be growing wild."

She gave him a soft smile of gratitude as she accepted her plate and sat back in her chair again. "I already picked over most of the gardens and orchards that were within walking distance over the last couple of months," she admitted apologetically as she gingerly pulled strands of meat off the thin bones. "I canned what I could so there'd be some food over the winter and just ate what couldn't be preserved. But I know there's a hardware store in town. Maybe we could find some seeds to plant next spring if we're still here and..."

Connor stopped what he was doing, his head snapping up in surprise. Carol trailed off as what she'd said sunk in, her lush lips parted in shock. Despite the encroaching darkness, he could see the vein in her throat throbbing as panic set in and he sensed she was on the verge of shutting him out for good.

"Aye," he said, returning his attention to his own meal and shrugging casually despite the way his heart was thundering in his chest. "Perhaps we can take a gander next time we're out and about. Check a few cellars, too, maybe find some taters that have gone to sprout and bring them back so's we can plant once the ground is warm enough again."

It had been so natural, how she'd gone and said, 'we'. The way she'd envisioned a future that included _him_. He wasn't going to read anything into it that wasn't there, that was for sure. But on some level she'd actually accepted him as part of her life, and it was nigh on impossible not to hope that he could share the days ahead with someone else...with her. Maybe he'd been led here not just to bring respite to Carol's life but find some of his own as well. Perhaps this was the brand of mercy with which he was being blessed in lieu of a reunion with his beloved brother. It made a fella wonder if all divine plans might not be nearly so intricate and lofty as he'd once believed.

She hadn't answered him but instead slowly resumed eating, quietly savouring the food he'd prepared for them. Connor let the silence stretch out between them as he watched the sun disappear over the curve of the earth, content for the moment to let the matter rest and just be thankful that he was being allowed to share in her company at long last.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Although one wouldn't necessarily know it by the daytime temperatures, the cooler October nights in Georgia gave a clear indication that autumn had arrived. Carol told Connor that it was called 'Indian Summer,' whatever that meant. He was just grateful that by the time he fell exhausted into his cot at night, he could count on a cool breeze blowing over his face, its fragrance of frost and turning leaves lulling him to sleep.

Winter was going to be considerably milder down south than what he'd come to expect in Boston, but since the cold weather wasn't far off, gathering the last of their provisions was a priority. They'd had to start venturing further from the farm in order to find some of the necessities, making several long trips to more distant towns. Scavenging in unfamiliar territory had had its risks but it had been worth it in the long run – the new locations had yielded up well-stocked cellars and bottles of fuel for their old oil lamps. One last trip and Connor figured that while there might be a few lean weeks in February, they'd neither starve nor freeze to death.

While Carol had at first been reluctant to let him accompany her during these forays, even she had to admit that it was not only safer with him along but they were also able to bring back twice as much in a single trip, making it a much more efficient use of their time. She'd gradually grown more at ease in his presence but the emotional walls she'd had in place when he'd first arrived had crumbled only slightly. During their treks she'd talk freely about the most random of topics, and he'd even been able to coax a rare laugh or two from her occasionally. But if he dared utter a single word about the past, Carol's or his own, she would clam up again and leave him shambling alongside her in awkward silence.

Maybe the dark months of December and January would see her opening up a bit more. Not much to do but talk when the days were short and nippy, after all. Well, he could think of a _few_ other enjoyable activities, but the chances of anything like that happening seemed damned remote. Carol never touched him intentionally and if her fingers happened to inadvertently brush against his when she handed him something, she'd jerk back as if she'd been scalded. Not exactly encouraging but if all she wanted was friendship, he'd learn to live with it. He had no right to expect anything else.

Not to say he'd discourage more intimate attention if she'd give any indication at all that she was of a mind. Because while he was grateful every day that he wasn't alone, he was still a man and not past noticing the enticing sway of her hips when she walked, or the sweet little valley between her soft, round breasts, or the long elegant curve of her neck that just begged to be kissed.

Connor shook his head, trying to derail that train of thought before it picked up any more speed. There was work to be done and gazing off into the clear blue sky on flights of sexual fancy was a waste of time. Carol had disappeared into the woods to pick some chanterelles and black trumpets before they disappeared beneath a layer of crisp leaves, and he wanted to clear the walker traps before her return. She was far from squeamish about taking on the task herself, but the old-fashioned, chivalrous part of him thoroughly disliked the idea of her having to put down and then haul away the creatures with her own hands. God knew she'd done it herself and well enough before he'd arrived but this was one task he believed was beneath someone like her. Someone as lovely and feminine and delicate...

With a frustrated snarl, he retrieved the spike that Carol had fashioned from a long pole and a bayonet blade, and set out to dispatch the first of the hapless, shambling cadavers from within the pits. Unless they were taken care of quickly, the ruckus they kicked up tended to attract others of their kind, and the last thing he and Carol needed right now was to be dealing with a herd of the reeking monsters.

Approaching the first of the traps, Connor gazed down pitilessly and speared the first of the walkers below through its rotting skull. He'd stopped really looking at them, stopped thinking about how old they'd been, how they were dressed or who they might have been before they'd died and turned. It had been more difficult when the virus first swept through the cities, especially if the victims were women or children, but he'd since hardened his heart to their plight. They were mindless killing machines and they represented a terrible danger to the living. He needed no other justification in his mind for what fate he doled out once they'd ceased to be people.

He was finishing the last of them off and pulling the pick-up truck around so as to load the remains when Carol emerged from the trees, the gentle autumn wind ruffling her hair and tinting her cheeks pink. She saw him watching her and flashed him a radiant smile, lifting the bucket and giving him a thumbs-up signal to indicate her search for mushrooms had been fruitful. He waved at her, not bothering to try and make himself heard over the rumble of the engine, and retrieved the bale hook from the truck box so he could begin to pull the desiccated bodies out of the holes for burning.

There were only a few corpses left to remove when a faint cry from the direction of the house caught his ear, and Connor whirled around to see that two relatively fresh walkers had somehow avoided the traps, and Carol was cornered between them and the outhouse. She'd dropped the pail of mushrooms and had her hunting knife drawn, but Connor knew that by the time she took out one of her attackers, the other would be upon her and tearing her to bits. His heart stuck in his throat and he broke into a run across the lawn to get to her as quickly as he could, leaping over the piles of dirt and dodging the loops of razor wire he'd set down as an added measure of protection.

Carol crouched as the first of the undead lunged for her, swinging her foot at its knee and shattering its leg with the force of her blow. It fell to the ground but since it felt no pain and had no concept of the extent of its injury, it refused to give up its pursuit and kept dragging itself towards her by sinking its claw-like fingers into the lawn. The second walker howled raspily and reached for her, but she dived out of the way, rolling and coming up behind it. With both hands, she drove her knife all the way to the hilt through the top of its head, and her only weapon was yanked out of her hands as the creature fell heavily to the ground.

Just as Connor had feared, the first walker caught her and had wrapped its hands around Carol's ankle, tugging her off her feet and pulling her towards its hungry, skeletal mouth. She kicked at its head with her free foot as hard as she was able but while its skull rocked back on its neck, it held fast to its prize.

All it would take was one deep scratch, one nip, and there'd be no hope left for her. Connor bellowed and ran even harder, clutching the hook more tightly in his fist and swearing to himself that he was going to yank the thing's head right off its shoulders. Carol kept scooting backwards, her cries growing more frantic as she attempted to twist free from the walker's clutches.

He was within ten yards of her when Carol finally noticed his approach. Her eyes widened in even greater terror and she screamed something at him about tripping, but his heart was beating too hard and his breath was coming too harsh for him to hear her properly. At the last minute, Connor saw something like the clear glint of a spider web, thin and lying close to the grass, but it didn't register that she was trying to warn him off until his boot caught on the line and he started to fall forward. There was a very loud sound and a very bright light, and then the cool ground came up to meet his face as everything suddenly went black.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Connor's head was pounding mercilessly as he came to, almost as if his brain was determined to break free of his skull and flee his body once and for all. "Lord, Murph, but that musta been some sorta piss up last night," he groaned hoarsely. He tried to crack a lid open but even the tiniest sliver of light made the pain a thousand times worse and so he squeezed his eyes tightly shut once more, trying not to puke as his gut heaved threateningly. "Don't think I've been quite so rat-assed as all dat since the last St. Paddy's Day we spent in Kenmare."

He lifted his hand so he could block out the sunshine that was beating down on his face, but cool slender fingers closed around his wrist and stopped him. "Don't do that," whispered a soft female voice, and then he felt someone settle next to him on the mattress.

Well, fuck if the day wasn't going from bad to worse. He'd been so off his tits that he'd actually brought someone home from the pub! It was a cardinal rule with him: no casual rides, _ever_. Such encounters only ever left Connor feeling like he weren't worth shite in the morning. Worse than being thought an utter hoor, though, was understanding that he shouldn't be putting someone innocent at risk. Given the sort of scum they'd been tasked with exterminating, you never knew when retribution was going to be visited upon you by the evil-doers, and getting a person killed as didn't deserve it was definitely not part of the divine plan.

It was the MacManus brothers' mutual fucking duty to make sure they only ever left in one another's company at night's end. When Connor was able to stand again without hurling, he was going to kick Murphy's scrawny arse around the flat for letting him down in such bloody massive fashion.

"I'm feelin' knackered, darlin'," Connor croaked, his stomach churning in an alarming manner. "Sorry if I didn't behave meself last evenin' but I'm beggin' ye to see yerself out and let me sleep. Won't be good for much else today, I don't think."

"Connor," she said softly. "You're injured and I don't want you to move because you might start bleeding again. Do you understand?"

For the love of all that was holy, he had absolutely no memory of getting into a fight. But there could be no other reason for the thousand aches and throbbing bruises he was only know becoming aware of. "How'd the other fella fare, den?" he managed to chuckle, then hissed with regret as more blinding pain spiked through his skull.

The woman gave an exasperated sigh and got up off the bed. She must have drawn the drapes closed because the room suddenly dimmed considerably, and he dared to try and open his eyes once more.

He stared around the room dazedly, struggling to focus. For damned sure this wasn't the loft in Boston; everything from the colour of the paint to the décor on the walls was strange and unfamiliar. Something was wrong for sure, because he'd never been so drunk that he hadn't been able to find his way back home again. When his eyes finally lit on the only other person in the room and his vision cleared, reality came rushing back at him and struck him square in the chest, the resulting overwhelming grief and anguish nearly robbing him of his ability to draw breath.

"Ah, Carol…" Connor managed to gasp, his heart crushed anew as the memory of what he'd lost became crystal clear once more. A tear escaped down his cheek before he finally noticed the bandages on his arms and chest, fresh poppies of blood blooming from beneath the clean white gauze. His pulse raced in thready panic and he tried to sit up so he could see for himself how badly he was hurt. Oh, Christ on the cross, there'd been walkers! Maybe the dressings hid bite marks...

Carol was at his side instantly, gently pushing his shoulders back into the mattress and making shushing sounds. He fought her for a moment but finally collapsed against the pillows, too shaky and disoriented to offer much resistance. "Am I done fer, den?" he asked, desperately searching her eyes for the truth. "Ya didn't get bit too, didya?"

She smiled sadly at him and cradled his cheek in her palm, gently thumbing away his tears. "I didn't get bitten and neither did you. You set off a trip wire and detonated a couple of rubber pellet grenades I had hidden in the grass. That flash bang was enough to distract the last walker and give me time to finish him off. If you hadn't fallen right on top of the grenade, the worst you would have had were some bruises."

His relief was so great that he actually trembled. Lifting his hand, he pressed her warm fingers against his face and revelled in the comfort of her skin against his. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed this most basic aspect of human connection. It had been so long since someone had touched him with such tenderness that he very nearly wept again.

"Me head, though..." He tried to check his throbbing brow but Carol forestalled him yet again by snagging his wrist.

"You might have a concussion from the blast, or from when your head hit the ground, or perhaps both," she said soothingly. "There's a bad bump on your temple and a minor cut, but I haven't had a chance to wash your hands yet and I don't want you risking infection."

"If I get a sponge bath outta it, den mebbe it'll have been worth it," he joked weakly, giving her a tremulous smile.

Carol gave a short little laugh and shook her head. "I already wiped down your chest and arms so I could treat your wounds. I'm afraid you slept through the best part already."

"More's the shame, dat," he lamented with a sigh. He nestled his cheek against her hand and looked at her from beneath heavy lids. "Gotta tell ya, had I known all it would take was throwin' meself onto an explosive device to get ya to touch me and look at me as ye are now, I mighta done so sooner."

Her cheeks flushed hot but her expression was one of profound regret. "I'm sorry, Connor, for far more than almost getting you killed protecting me. I feel awful about the way I've treated you these past few months. Please understand – I've lost so much since this all began and I figured that as long as I didn't let you too close, it wouldn't hurt quite as badly once you're gone."

Connor scowled. "Gone where? I'm not after leavin', Carol – you needn't be worried."

She gently withdrew her hand and stood up, crossing her arms over her chest as she gazed down at him. "You can't make a promise like that - one way or another, it's going to happen. Whether our odds run out and one of us is taken down by the walkers, or we come across some unfriendlies on one of our supply runs, or you find out the truth about me and decide you don't want to be around me anymore…"

He carefully eased himself up onto his elbows. "Is dat what happened? Someone up and left you behind?" he asked. She had suffered mightily; he could see that her hurt went bone-deep from the way she had begun curling in on herself. While he had no idea what she was shielding him from, he couldn't imagine someone purposely causing this woman pain. From what he knew of her, it seemed inconceivable that her sins were so ghastly that she deserved to be sentenced to such a lonely life.

"Yes, something like that," she admitted sedately, retreating as far as the doorjamb in what he figured was an unconscious attempt to re-establish the distance between them.

"C'mere, luv," he murmured, trying to ignore his growing dizziness and fatigue. He settled back against his pillows again but reached out to her, trying to coax her back to his bedside. "Willin' to wager, I am, dat it won't be half so bad in the tellin' as ye might think."

Carol stared at him pensively before some sort of gradual realization dawned on her face. "You need to rest right now," she said, gathering his sheets and pulling them up near his chin. "I have to go outside and get things cleaned up before we attract any more unwelcome guests. I'll be back to check on you in a couple of hours and if you're feeling up to it, we'll talk then. Okay?"

He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and squeezed lightly, prompting her to look at him warily. "Ya swear? Cuz I've a story of me own to share wit' ya. Right, and 'tis well past time we learned da truth, innit?"

She sighed in weary resignation. "Yes, I suppose it is. Close your eyes, Connor. You'll find out all you want to know soon enough."

Taking a deep breath, he nodded and let exhaustion claim him as the sound of Carol's steps faded away.


	6. Chapter 6

_Thanks for the few who are reading and leaving reviews! Much appreciated, love to you all! _

* * *

When Connor finally woke again, it was to the sight of pale moonbeams shimmering in through the bedroom window, painting everything in shades of white, grey and black. Although his temples still throbbed in time to his pulse, the pain had become tolerable and his stomach had calmed. Considering he'd all but blown himself to pieces, he figured he could mark that as feckin' fine progress.

He eased himself into a sitting position, wincing at the sting as the fresh cuts on his abdomen protested the tensing of the muscles beneath. The window was open a crack and he drew the crisp autumn air deep into his lungs. As he slowly stretched his achy body, he became aware of two truths, one rather more pressing than the other: he was hungry as a bear and he had to piss so bad he felt near to bursting.

Just as he'd swung his legs over the edge of the mattress and was about to attempt to stand, Carol appeared in the doorway. She was clad in a modest white nightgown that nevertheless clung to her feminine curves and hung just above her knees, her hair like glinting like spun silver and her eyes shining as bright blue as a summer sky in the moonlight. A breathtaking vision, she was, and one that stopped him from doing anything but gazing awestruck at her delicate beauty.

"You look like an angel," he whispered reverently. "Moonlight becomes ya."

Carol gave him a shy smile and her eyes glittered. "Now you _really _have me worried about how serious that head injury might be." Her expression gradually grew more serious as she approached him. "If you want to get up, at least hold on to me until we know that you're not going to pass out. The last thing you need is to be hurting yourself worse by falling."

She crouched slightly and waited for Connor to sling his arm around her shoulders, then settled her hand on his waist and hoisted him to his feet. His knees shook a bit but held firm, and he was relieved at not having to lean on her too heavily. "Are we upstairs, den?" he asked worriedly, wanting to make his own way outside to take care of business, so to speak, but knowing that too many downward steps were more than he was capable of tackling at this point. Maybe once he'd had something to eat, he'd be alright, but some things simply couldn't wait.

"No, I had to put you in the main floor bedroom," Carol admitted, tucking herself a little closer in order to lend him the stability she seemed to sense he needed. "It took a while to even carry you up as far as the threshold. I didn't want to risk moving you any further than necessary without knowing exactly how seriously you were injured."

Connor gave himself a second or two to imprint both her light, clean scent and the warmth of her sleek little body against his into his mind, wishing being this close to him meant something more to her than he knew it did. "If you can get me so far as the front door, I...eh...really need to go," he finally mumbled.

"Go?" she echoed, her brow furrowing in confusion. "You mean back to the granary? I don't think you're fit to be on your own right now, Connor, and won't be until you're a little more stable..."

"No...I mean, I gotta _go, _as in takin' a moment or two fer meself outside," he interrupted, the situation becoming more pressing with each passing second. "I've need of the facilities, as it were."

Carol cringed as she finally understood, and gave an embarrassed giggle. "Sorry. Of course. But you don't need to go outside; I can find something you can use in here. I don't want you stumbling around in the dark in your condition."

"I swear I won't go far, girl, but you gotta let me hold onta whatever dignity I've got left," he pleaded, coaxing her out the bedroom door by more or less pulling her along through sheer force of will.

She didn't argue any further, just grabbed her pistol from where it lay on a stand beside the front door before escorting him out. Getting down the porch stairs was a bit dicey; Connor's head swam and he had to hold tight to the banister, but when he reached the lawn, the feel of the cold, damp grass on his bare feet and the night's chilly breath on his face restored his senses enough that he could stand on his own.

He shuffled around the shelter of the stairs and leaned the flat of his hand against the house, fumbling with the button on his jeans before realizing that Carol had remained where he'd left her and in plain sight, no less. Arching his eyebrow at her, he waited with dwindling patience.

"Oh...oh!" she gasped in realization, and he knew he'd be able to see a rosy blush on her cheeks if her face wasn't hidden in shadow. "I'll just...I'll be waiting on the veranda. Just call when you're...uh...done...and I'll come help you back up again."

She quickly scampered up the steps and Connor let nature takes its course, keeping an ear out for anything that might be tempted to put in an inopportune appearance when he was in a distinctly vulnerable position. There was no sound at all aside from his own breathing and the distant cricket calls, though, and it was with great relief that he was able to conclude his business uninterrupted.

It was with no small amount of hearty self-congratulations that he was able to make it all the way onto the porch under his own steam, discounting the short bursts of burning pain igniting from beneath the bandages on his torso. He stopped in his shaky tracks, however, when he saw Carol.

She'd wandered further down the length of the veranda to give him some privacy and stood by the railing, gazing up at the star-encrusted sky. Lit by the moon, her gown was rendered all but see-through, and Connor could feel his pulse jump as he stood riveted, drinking in the swell of her breasts, the narrowness of her waist, the seductive flare of her hips and the lithe shape of her legs. He might have thought her an angel at first but he'd been wrong – as blasphemous a thought as it might be, she was more akin to a mythological goddess of some kind, sweet perfection and well beyond what he had any right to desire. Unfortunately, neither his body nor his heart seemed willing to acknowledge that fact.

It might have been the effect of his injuries, the lack of nourishment or more likely, the fact that blood was swiftly draining away from his brain and racing due south, but the planks beneath his feet suddenly seemed to tilt sharply and he found himself down on his knees again. He shook his head but that only seemed to make the dizziness worse, and he scowled with utter humiliation as he heard Carol's quick little feet rushing to his rescue once more.

She sank to her knees beside him and cupped his bristly chin in her hand, lifting his head so she could see his eyes. He felt more than a twinge of guilt at the stark concern he read there, wishing he'd looked before he'd leapt earlier in the day so she'd not be tasked with playing nursemaid. If not for bumbling into the trap, however, the distance between them may have remained ever vast, so perhaps it was God's will that his stupidity actually pay off in the long run.

"Maybe next time you'll listen to me," she scolded softly. "You weren't ready for this. Come on, let's get you back to bed."

He caught a glimpse of a porch swing out of the corner of his eye and pointed towards it. "I need the fresh air more than I need to be lyin' down again," he said. "Think this has more to do with the fact that I've not eaten since this mornin'. Get me far as the swing and I'll rest for a few minutes, then I can find something to put in me stomach."

"I made you some supper but you were so soundly asleep, I didn't have the heart to wake you," she replied, hauling him upright and guiding him on his clumsy path to the swing. Once he was sitting again and swaying slightly to and fro, Carol grabbed a quilt from the seat and quickly snugged it around his shoulders. "I'll go heat up the soup and be right back," she said, wrapping his fingers around her gun before darting through the squeaky screen door and back into the house.

If Murph could see him now, Connor thought with a wry chuckle, he'd be hooting with laughter. Tucked into his cozy blanket, rocked by the faint breeze, weak as a kitten and being mothered to within an inch of his life – Connor might as well be five years old again. Still and all, it would take an awful lot to convince him to trade places with anyone at this moment. End of the world it might be, but it had been a damned long time since he'd felt so much at home as he did this night.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

All it had taken was a bit of food, and Connor was already feeling more himself again. The soup that Carol had boiled up from some root vegetables and the last of their venison had truly hit the spot, the meal proving a rare treat that allowed them to save more of their tinned provisions for winter.

Connor set the empty bowl on the porch and eased back in the swing, gingerly touching the dressings on his stomach. None of the cuts had been deep enough that Carol had had to stitch them closed, but it was going to be a few days before the bruising went down.

"Do you want a couple of Tylenol?" Carol asked from where she was curled up beside him on the cushion, her feet tucked beneath her and her thick sweater wrapped tightly around her as a shield from the night air.

"Nah, I'm right as rain," he reassured her, unwilling to waste the little medication they had on something so trivial as a few aches. He grinned and gave her a sly sideways glance. "T'is a bit nippy out here, though. If ya'd slide a bit closer, you might save me catchin' me death of cold."

"Or we could just go back inside where it's at least a bit warmer," she said wryly, not completely successful in suppressing a shy smile.

"There'll be more than enough time spent huddlin' in front of the fire this winter," he replied, opening up the cocoon formed by the quilt she'd draped over him and wordlessly inviting her inside. "Let's enjoy one of the last decent nights we have left. I swear on me honour, your virtue is safe. I haven't the strength to take advantage of ya if'n I wanted."

"_If_ you wanted?" she teased, arching her brow at him.

"Alas, the spirit be willin', but the flesh be weak," he joked, dramatically laying a hand on his chest even as his smile faltered. There was no point in kidding around about it; he could tell from the way she was gazing at him that he'd in no way fooled her by making light of his feelings.

Before he could say any more on the matter, Carol crossed the distance between them and kissed him, her lips as soft and light as feathers against his. It was as delicate a kiss as he might have expected from her, a series of tender touches and tastes that nevertheless set his blood rolling hotly through his veins. More startling than the powerful physical response she prompted, though, was the way she'd touched his heart by reaching out to him as she had. Tears pricked from behind his eyes, he was that profoundly moved by her simple gesture.

He leaned in and skimmed her graceful neck with his fingertips before cupping her nape and drawing her in so he could deepen the kiss. She whimpered needfully as he flicked at her mouth with the tip of his tongue and after hesitating for a few seconds, she parted her beautiful lips and allowed him further in.

The enticingly sweet essence of clover honey had only just registered when she gently broke away, pulling back only far enough that she could look up into his face. "That was...so nice," she sighed, stroking his whiskers as she leaned her forehead against his. "But before anything else happens...before you let yourself get too close...we need to have that talk."

"What do you think you have to tell me," he replied, not completely able to keep the exasperation out of his voice, "dat's gonna make me run fer the woods, Carol?" He had no idea what she was so worried about sharing but he _was_ willing to bet it would pale in comparison to the dark shadows of his own past.

He could feel her body tense but to her credit, she didn't attempt a retreat. "I'm a murderer," she whispered, her voice catching on the final word. "I took the lives of three people who were part of the group I was with. People who trusted me."

Connor carefully wrapped the other end of the quilt around her shoulders and slipping his hand around her waist, brought her into the safe shelter of his arms. He wasn't surprised to hear she'd killed; they lived in a world where that in order to survive, that had become the reality for almost everyone. But she was haunted by it and clearly needed to share the truth. He'd not judge her before hearing her story, if at all. His days of exacting vengeance on God's behalf were long past.

"Tell me what happened," he prompted, taking one of her hands in his and stroking her fingers soothingly.

"There was an infection," she revealed, nestling a little closer as she spoke. "A flu, we think. It took the first of its victims very quickly. Of course, after they died..."

"They turned," he finished grimly. "And killed others, I'm guessin'?"

He could feel her nod against his shoulder. "Once we figured that out, we started by isolating the two people who we knew were sick. But we had no medication, no way to fight the spread at all. In fact, we didn't even know _how_ it was spreading. We had children in our group...elderly people...they were the vulnerable ones. I couldn't just stand by and watch everyone around me die. So I...I killed the two who were infected. I felt as though I had no choice...all the people I came to love and care about were at risk..."

A sob escaped Carol's lips then, and she pulled her hand free of Connor's so she could cover her mouth. "Were they already dying, these two? Sufferin' terribly?" he queried quietly.

"Yes," she answered hoarsely. "But that doesn't justify my decision, does it? It shouldn't have been my call to make. I should have talked to the others before I acted; I should have made them understand why we needed to consider that course of action."

"Mebbe ya shoulda done all dat," he conceded. "But from what yer tellin' me – Carol, dat wasn't murder. Ya did what ya did to save others, ya performed a work o' mercy fer those who were well past hope. You had the courage to act, to make the tough decision when hesitatin' woulda cost even more lives."

"That's not how our leader and other people in our group saw it," she muttered despondently, her voice thick with grief. "Rick – the guy who was in charge – took me on a supply run a few days after I'd admitted what I'd done and then he refused to bring me back again. He said I had no right to do what I did, that he didn't want me around anymore...that if he and I were the last of our group left alive, he still wouldn't want me there with his children."

Connor's eyes widened in shock before narrowing in anger. "Yeah? And what did yer high an' mighty leader figure the solution was? What kind of dickless arsehole would abandon a woman alone in the midst of the apocalypse?"

She shrugged sadly and her breath hitched again. "There was no one there willing to challenge him, no one to speak up for me. I guess he felt that was an appropriate punishment given that I had acted on my own in killing Karen and David; he decided just as I had, without consulting anyone. He couldn't have done anything that would have hurt me more than forcing me to leave...to abandon everyone I cared about. It would have been kinder to put a bullet in the back of my skull."

"No one there willing to challenge him," Connor repeated before it occurred to him that she'd chosen her words with care. "Was there someone, though, who _would_ have stood up to him...someone who _wasn't_ there when dis happened?"

She was quiet for a moment before she nodded again. "A few of the people from our group went on a run to a veterinary college to see if they could find any medicine to help. There was someone with them I thought would have defended me but..."

"But?" He waited with trepidation to hear what she had to say. Of course she would have had someone special in her life; a woman like Carol would have no cause to be alone.

Carol sighed heavily. "I was sure if I could tell him my story, he'd help the others understand. He and I...we were close, really close. When I came back to find him, though, the place had been destroyed. There was another group, led by a man who was determined to exterminate us like roaches, and they'd hit hard. Killed so many on both sides, forced my people to run for their lives. I found a few of them – another man, Tyreese, two girls I'd promised to look after when their father died and Rick's baby daughter – and I stayed with them as we tried to find our friends. And in the end, we did. But not before I had to kill another person – one of the young girls in our care stabbed her sister to death and was ready to do the same to the baby. She had mental problems, and believed that the walkers were people rather than monsters. I couldn't leave Ty to carry on alone with the baby, and we couldn't keep Lizzie with us out of fear that she'd do to Judith what she'd already done to Mika..."

She trailed off, her pain overwhelming her. Carol wept quietly into her hand again, and Connor tightened his embrace as she let her sorrow flow. When he and Murphy had been tasked with eliminating the dregs of Boston's seedy underworld, it had all been very black and white – although what they had done doubtlessly saved lives that would have otherwise been claimed by drugs, prostitution and other such deplorable activities, never had they been forced to face the sort of staggering moral dilemmas as Carol. She hadn't had the blazing righteousness of the Lord visited upon her to absolve her of her sin, either – she'd acted out of pure love, only to be ostracised by the very people she'd being trying to save. It was beyond unjust.

"And when you found your group again – when you reunited Rick wit' his lost child – what happened?"

Carol made a sound half way between a laugh and a sob. "He was grateful enough to get her back, but he credited Ty with saving Judith's life. His feelings towards me hadn't changed, but Glenn – another man in our group – took my side and insisted that it wasn't Rick's decision alone whether or not I was still part of the family. He said everyone should have a say, and so they took a vote."

"Glenn – is he the one you went back to look for after you'd been sent away?"

"No, but he's always been a good friend – a decent man. When they voted, though, the other one...Daryl, the man I was sure would have my back...he refused to vote. Just plain refused to have anything to do with it. He walked away and left me to the mercy of the others."

Connor knew with cold certainty that if he ever came across either of the men who'd lacked the stones to do right by Carol, he'd give them serious cause to rethink their piss-poor decision. "So...they voted to have you leave?"

"Actually, more of them wanted to see me stay," she revealed slowly. "But when Daryl turned his back...I couldn't. How could I after that, seeing him every day and knowing that he didn't want me there?"

If he'd been angry before, Connor was positively seething with rage. She'd loved this Daryl person and the bastard had torn her heart out. "Or he did and was too much a fuckin' coward to say so," he growled.

"He was scared; our group is the only real family he'd ever known and I just don't think he could give up that security, not even for me," she said quietly. "I'd lost so much – losing him too was more than I could handle. I had to get away from all of them after that, had to leave everything behind and try to start again. And so here I am, as you found me. Alone for three months and hoping to remain that way until the end."

"No sin ya committed justifies what was done to ya," he murmured against her hair, setting the swing gently rocking with his feet as he tried to comfort her despite the fury that burned in his gut. "I know ya carry the burden of havin' taken lives but what choice was left ya? Yer not a murderer, m'luv. Yer a soldier in a war that damn few will survive. Them as condemned ya are the ones who should stand in fear of the judgement awaitin' them in the hereafter."

"There's blood on my hands all the same," Carol replied mournfully. "When I close my eyes at night, I see their faces in my mind. I feel that last breath, I hear the sound of my knife bursting through their skulls as I put them down...and the gunshot from when I had to kill Lizzie..."

"Listen to me," Connor said firmly, tilting her chin back so she could see the conviction in his eyes as surely as she could hear his words. "Aye, ya killed...but a murderer? Seen plenty in my day an' dealt with them as harshly as was their due. And to a man, they had no regret for the lives they'd destroyed. There was malice in their twisted hearts, greed in their blackened souls, hatred flowing through their very veins for the pure and innocent among us. That what ya were forced to do causes ya such heartbreak and remorse is evidence ya can't come near to countin' yerself among them. Don't be lookin' to me to turn me back on ya – not gonna happen. So unless ya drive me off at gunpoint, yer stuck wit' me."

She leaned in and kissed him again, and he could feel her lips tremble as he tasted the faint saltiness of her tears. "I didn't want to care about you, Connor," she breathed against his mouth. "I tried so hard not to let you into my life. But now I don't think I could go back to being alone again."

He gave her another long, lingering kiss by way of a response and smiled as he felt the shiver that ran through her body as he did so. "So long as I draw breath, girl, ye have me. But only _your_ half of the story's been told – ya might not consider yourself quite so lucky once ya hear d'other side."

Carol cinched her arms around him and snuggled her head against the crook of his neck. "You said you dealt with murderers – were you a cop?"

He snorted. "Of a sort, I s'pose. Though the laws I enforced were not the laws of man. Tell me, do ya remember about a year b'fore the plague swept the Earth, some troubles members of various mafia groups mighta had with a coupla fellas in Boston? Started off wit' the killin' of a priest in a church and more or less went all pear-shaped from there..."

She went very still and then slowly sat up, her blue eyes wide with shock. "It was in all the papers and on every TV channel. Of course I heard about it! You're talking about the Saints! The MacManus brothers...!"

"Aye, the very same," he said, bracing himself for her reaction and praying that he'd not just lost every inch of ground he'd gained. "Connor MacManus, and pleased I am to make yer acquaintance."


	8. Chapter 8

_Thank you, everyone who is reading and most of all, everyone who leaves me feedback/reviews! So happy you like the story and where I'm going with it! Hope you enjoy this latest chapter, we're going to shake things up for Connor and Carol now!_

* * *

**Chapter 8**

Connor now understood exactly how unnerving it could be to say something only to have one's words greeted by the distant, lonely sound of crickets. Literally.

"What're ya thinkin'?" Connor finally prompted, made far too uneasy by the silence to wait patiently for her to answer. He knew that popular opinion had been pretty evenly divided on whether he and Murphy were truly doing the Lord's work in Boston or were just a couple of blood-thirsty vigilantes out for thrills, but the thoughtful look on Carol's face gave him no indication as to her true feelings on the matter.

"I honestly don't know _what_ to think," she eventually replied, her forehead furrowing in consternation. "Like everyone else at the time it was happening, I guess I was of two minds: glad that some really awful people wouldn't have a chance to hurt anyone else, but unsure of whether what the mobsters received was really justice or not."

"What we did wasn't done on a whim," he replied, reaching for her hand beneath the quilt and brushing her fingers lovingly. He was encouraged by the fact that she hadn't recoiled in horror when learning his identity, and she didn't shrink from his touch as though she thought him dangerous. "We were tasked through divine revelation to bring reckonin' upon dem as had earned it."

Carol stared at him hard, no doubt trying to figure out if he was gone in the head or not. "Do you really think that's true?" she asked dubiously. "I'm not in a position to judge if what you did was right or not; I can't afford to cast stones given the choices I've made. But what makes you think it was God's will that you and your brother should…eliminate…those criminals?"

"I don't think – I _know_," he said earnestly, pressing his hand to his heart. "We heard a _Callin'_, so we did. '_Destroy all dat which is evil so dat which is good may flourish.'_ Sure as I can hear your voice, me an' Murph heard dem words and knew what we had to do. Do ya not believe that God speaks to those He'd have do His biddin'?"

Carol moved away from him a few inches, shrugging off the quilt and wrapping her arms around herself defensively. "I'm not sure I even believe in God anymore, never mind that He might be sending people messages and asking them to do his dirty work," she responded matter-of-factly. "If He was ever real – if he ever cared – I haven't seen any proof of that since this all began."

The fact that she was questioning her faith physically pained Connor; his own had been tested, true enough, and perhaps no one had more cause to doubt than Carol, but understanding that it was one more thing she'd lost made him feel bereft. "I get how you might feel dat way," he said, subtly shifting closer to her again. "Felt it m'self during me darkest days. But dat same _Callin'_ dat set our path in Boston sent me _here_, Carol! Dat's your proof, if ya need it. What cause would I have to leave and travel fer a solid month, riskin' all kinds of peril on me own, if not for some greater good? Faith led me to ya and I can't help but be thankful fer it."

When she looked up at him again through the lovely fringe of her dark lashes, Connor could see that her eyes were glistening with angry tears. "You think He sent you to save me?" she hissed bitterly, her hands tightening into fists. "After everything He stole from me – my daughter, my family, the people who meant the most to me – why would He even bother?"

"Mebbe I was sent so's you could save _me_," he murmured, reaching out to tuck a silky curl behind her ear. "Or mebbe He saw we both were sufferin' and alone, and decided dat we needed nothin' so much in dis world than ta save each other."

Her expression softened and a tear trickled down her cheek as her bottom lip began to quiver. "Oh, Connor," she whispered sadly. "You make me wish that were true."

He gathered her close again and she let him, settling against him with a deep, tremulous sigh that tore at his heart. "All dat counts now," he said, brushing his lips over her temple before nestling his cheek in her hair, "is you believe in _me_. Whether ya wish to believe God had a hand in it or not, I didn't kill for pleasure or gain or even outta hatred; I did what I thought was right in order to save lives, same as you. We mighta been judged harshly for it but we two know da truth. We can't change our past but we can build somethin' just fer us, luv. And perhaps in time the 'why' of how we found each other won't matter anymore."

She tucked her legs beneath her again and mindful of his injuries, carefully curled her body around his. There were no reassurances given that she trusted all he'd had to say, but she was seemingly content to quietly accept what comfort he had to offer at that moment.

* * *

It wasn't until Carol noticed there was fresh blood seeping through his bandages that Connor reluctantly agreed to release her from his embrace; he'd have been satisfied to sit in the swing all night holding her and trying to mend her aching heart simply by virtue of his presence. She offered him her hand and when he took it, she gently pulled him to his feet and led him back into the house.

Taking him to the bedroom, she pulled the curtains tightly closed and lit a candle so she could see what she was doing as she changed his dressings. He watched silently in the faint, flickering light as she deftly cut away the soiled gauze and gingerly dabbed at his wounds with a damp cloth, and he smiled softly to himself when he saw how she winced on his behalf every time she touched a tender spot.

"Don't hardly hurt," he said through clenched teeth, steeling himself against the burning sting of the antiseptic she applied to each gash in his flesh. "I'll be good as new come mornin'."

"You're a liar, Connor MacManus," she said lightly as she wrapped fresh gauze around both of his arms. That job done, she motioned for him to stand, waiting patiently as he slowly got to his feet again. "It's going to take a lot more than a little fresh air and some soup for you to recover. You're lucky to be alive."

"I am at dat," he said solemnly, gazing down at her.

She caught his eye and blushed when his meaning became clear, but it was back to business with yet another roll of gauze that she wrapped with clinical precision around the lacerations on his chest. "You need to sleep so your body can heal," she advised in a tone that made it clear she'd brook no argument.

Almost as though she'd cast an enchantment on him by her very words, Connor was suddenly overcome with weariness and sat heavily on the edge of the mattress, yawning despite himself. Carol held the sheets aloft until he crawled in between them and then tucked the quilt loosely around him. "I'm going to sleep on the couch," she said, hesitating for a heartbeat before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his brow. A haunted look flitted across her face as she rose again, almost as though her gesture had brought forth a brief, hurtful memory. "If you need me, call me and I'll come to you. I'm only a few feet away."

She turned to extinguish the candle but Connor snagged her wrist before she could go far. "Stay," he begged. "The bed's big enough for the both of us. B'sides, 'tis a cold night, it only makes sense to make da most of our body heat, and…" he trailed off, shaking his head and smiling sheepishly. "I want ya to stay, Carol. Not gonna make a move on ya; what I told you b'fore 'bout how I was feelin' was true. But I need to hold you tonight. _Please_."

It might have been a trick of the light, but it almost looked as though she was set to cry again before she ducked down and blew the out the candle. With the curtains drawn, the room was plunged into total darkness but he felt the mattress dip slightly as Carol crawled around behind him and slipped between the sheets, too. Her breath ghosted lightly across his back as she snuggled close and slipped her hand around his waist. "I'll hold _you_," she murmured, kissing him between the shoulder blades before stretching out and entwining her legs with his. Connor felt a moment of true peace and happiness before his fatigue caught up with him and he drifted off to sleep in the haven of her arms.

* * *

Connor was still sound asleep when the screech of the drapes being whipped open caused him to startle awake, and he was blinded by the brilliant morning sun. He heard Carol moan in drowsy protest as he sat up, blinking in the light. When his eyes finally grew accustomed to the brightness of the room, his heart lurched in his chest and ice cold adrenaline flooded his veins.

There was a man at the foot of the bed who he could swear was wearing Murphy's face, only it was contorted with an expression of overwhelming rage and seething betrayal. "What the FUCK is this?" the stranger roared, yanking the quilt and blanket off the bed. "This why you took off on me six months ago? So you could spread your legs for some vagrant you picked up on the road?"

Carol shot up beside Connor and made a sound of disgusted disbelief. "What the hell are you doing here?" she gasped, instinctively covering herself although she remained respectfully concealed by her cotton gown. "I don't owe you any answers, you asshole, not after you abandoned me – get the hell out of here!"

"Let me guess," growled Connor, a molten fury bubbling from within as he reached for the nearest weapon. "Ya must be Daryl."


	9. Chapter 9

_Another chapter! Yay! And perhaps a little forgiveness for Daryl is forthcoming...?_

* * *

The same second Connor got his finger on the trigger of Carol's pistol and swung the piece around, Daryl lifted a decidedly-wicked looking crossbow from his side and aimed the bolt at the centre of Connor's forehead.

"Not so fast, Butch Cassidy," Daryl growled, his cold blue eyes staring menacingly down the site. Muscles twitched beneath the man's sleeves as he balanced the weapon in both hands and spread his legs to ensure a steady shot.

"A bullet will travel a might faster than an arrow, Robin Hood," Connor needled back, getting to his knees while he kept the gun trained on the spot just above Daryl's heart.

Daryl narrowed his eyes and smirked unpleasantly. "Care to put that to the test?"

The fella's facial resemblance to Connor's brother was positively surreal but that's where the similarities ended. Ill-dressed and unwashed, his shoulders were broader than Murph's and his face lined by time spent under the Georgia sun. Greasy dark hair hung over his eyes and his chin was covered by sparse, uneven whiskers. Connor couldn't help but wonder how it was that Carol could ever have found such a filthy, backwoods thug appealing in the first place.

"Oh my God! Both of you, reel them in and put them back in your pants!" Carol demanded, scrambling off the bed and taking her place in between the two men, her back to Connor and her arms spread out as though she was trying to shield him. "Daryl, you need to go…"

"Ain't goin' nowhere 'til you talk to me alone!" he snapped, focusing his gaze on her rather than on Connor. "Didn't come all this way fer nothin'!" Had Connor been a different sort of man, he'd have taken advantage of the distraction and finished the job, but it was almost a sure bet that Carol would be far less impressed with his marksmanship when she had to pick bits of Daryl's woefully small brain off her nightie.

"It would seem ya did, 'cuz I'll not be lettin' her go anywhere with the likes of ye!" Connor spat back at him over her shoulder, slipping off the bed and skirting Carol so he could keep the barrel pointed in Daryl's direction without the risk of injuring her.

Carol whipped around, her heated glare fixing on Connor. "I'll decide for myself where I go, thank you very much." Turning back to Daryl, she took a step forward and with her hand on the curve of the bow, forced him to lower it until it was pointed at the floor. "Go outside and wait for me. I'll get dressed and we'll talk, and then I think you'd better leave."

Daryl pressed his lips together in a thin, tight line before whirling and stomping down the hallway to the sitting room. Carol waited with her arms crossed until she heard the screen door hit the side of the house hard enough to break and then shut again with an equally loud bang. Bending her head, she heaved a heavy sigh and buried her face in her hands.

"Carol…" Connor started, but she held up her palm and cut him off before he could go any further.

"Please don't start," she implored, pressing a fist to her forehead as her eyes fluttered closed. "This is going to be awful as it is, and I don't have it in me to argue with you right now. Just let me handle this on my own, okay?"

"Stay close at least," he said quietly, not wanting to add to her misery but feeling uneasy about her being alone with someone so obviously on edge. The fact that he was as far from being fighting-fit as he could be was worrisome – a gun would do no good if the man stayed close to Carol.

She gave him a frail smile. "He's not going to hurt me, Connor – at least, not the way you're worried he will. Trust that I know what I'm doing; it will only make it worse for me if you get in the middle of it."

He reached for her but she shook her head and dodged his attempt at a hug, instead slipping into the hallway and making for the stairs that led to the second story. Wounded by the slight, he listened as the soft pad of her feet on the steps grew distant before he sagged back onto the bed and tried to ignore the growing feeling of foreboding that had accompanied Daryl's unfortunate arrival.

* * *

Connor waited until he heard Carol quietly exit the house and then he hustled up the stairs, slipping into her bedroom and opening the window. Hers was one of the few rooms that faced the same direction as the veranda and while he was slightly ashamed at not respecting her privacy, he was nigh on desperate to hear what Daryl could possibly have to say to her after what he'd done. Hovering around the screen door trying to listen in would likely earn him either a beating or a crossbow bolt between the eyes, though, so eavesdropping through Carol's window was his only viable option.

"So who's he, then?" he heard Daryl ask snidely. Connor settled on the edge of the window sill and crossed his arms, waiting for Carol's response.

"I don't think that's any of your business," Carol answered coolly. "And before we even begin, I'd like an apology for that ignorant remark about me spreading my legs. You were way out of line and if that's the tone our conversation is going to take, we'll just forget the whole thing and you can leave without having your say."

There were a few beats of silence before Daryl spoke again. "I'm sorry," he said grudgingly. "I was so happy at having finally tracked you down and when I walked in to see _that_…well, it was just unexpected, is all. I had no right to say something like that."

"Why are you here?" she inquired, and Connor was secretly satisfied that she didn't grant Daryl any kind of forgiveness for his crude comment before she carried on.

"I've been looking for you…" Daryl replied, sounding baffled as to why she'd even ask.

"No. I mean, why now?" Carol demanded more brusquely. "You finally decide to put those finely-honed hunting skills to good use so you could figure out where I went, but I don't understand why you'd bother. You didn't seem all that interested in whether I stayed or left the last time I saw you, so I can't imagine why you were suddenly overcome with the burning need to determine my whereabouts after six months."

"What the hell are you talking about?" he responded impatiently. "I didn't just start looking for you, for Chrissakes! Been at it since the day you walked out on us. Walked out on _me_."

"I'm sorry, _what_?! I walked out on YOU? The rest of our group decided to hold a vote to determine my fate but instead of standing with me and speaking up on my behalf, you took off without a word. Do you have any idea how that made me feel? I thought we had something, Daryl – something really special, even if neither of us had worked up enough courage to actually act on it yet. But when you turned your back and I watched you walk away…" Carol choked with emotion, and Connor wanted nothing more at that moment than to fly down the stairs and pull her into his arms so he could protect her from any further pain.

"No! That's not what happened!" Daryl exclaimed, her words clearly shocking him. "I said I wasn't gonna have anything to do with that stupid-ass vote because there's no way is shoulda come to that! You don't ask people to raise their hands and decide if a member of their family gets to stay – they just _do_! That's not the kind of shit you vote about! When they went down that road, I decided I was done. I left to get my stuff together, and you an' me was gonna strike out on our own. It was the last straw, y'know? But when I got back from the compound, you'd already taken off in the only runnin' vehicle on the place and I had no way to follow or even get an idea which direction you mighta gone."

"You left that same day?" she asked in disbelief, her voice husky. "You're telling me that you abandoned Rick and the rest of them, and you've been searching for me all this time?"

"Been combing the countryside for signs ever since. Figured you'd stay away from the cities and the larger towns, but not so far that you'd let yourself run short on supplies. When I saw this place and recognized the kinds the traps you'd set up 'round the farmyard, I knew I'd finally found you." Daryl's boots were heavy against the wood planks, a slow deliberate walk that Connor could only assume had the man approaching Carol. "Ain't nothin' or nobody is as important to me as you," he revealed so softly that Connor hardly caught the words. "I thought you knew that."

Carol murmured something but Connor had already heard more than enough. He stumbled away from the window and leaned his hands against the wall, hanging his head in sorrow and trying to ignore the ripping sensation from deep within his chest. "Well, fuck me up the arse," he cursed despondently, slamming his fist against the drywall hard enough that he left a divot in the sheet rock. "They're still in love. What the hell am I to do now?"


	10. Chapter 10

_Thank you for the kind reviews! Glad Daryl has been given a bit of slack but believe that Connor's not giving up our girl without a fight!_

* * *

If Connor had been concerned about Carol coming upstairs and catching him in her room, he needn't have been. Although he hadn't a watch by which to mark the passing time, he'd spent at least fifteen minutes wallowing in self-pity before he realized she hadn't come back into the house at all. He returned to the window but there was no further conversation to be heard. Concern for Carol's well-being rapidly eclipsed his worry about the status of their fledgling relationship, and he descended the stairs as quickly as his battered body would allow so he could reassure himself that she was at least physically fine.

He grabbed a shirt on his way out the front door, easing it over his bandages as he glanced around the front yard. There was no sign of Carol but Daryl was sitting on the stairs leading up to the porch, his shoulders slumped dejectedly as he chipped the gore from one of his crossbow bolts with the edge of a hunting knife.

"Where's she gone, den?" Connor asked cautiously, bracing for an attack should the question prove to be a spark on the dry tinder of the man's temper.

Daryl shrugged and waved the bolt in the general direction of the woods, the fight seemingly gone out of him. "Said she needed time to think, so she took a walk," he muttered. "Told me not to follow, that she could damn well look after herself."

"From what I hear, she had to learn to do so or perish," said Connor, unable to keep the resentment from his voice. "B'tween you and your erstwhile leader, Rick, she was left to her own devices more than any woman should be in these dark times."

The muscles in Daryl's shoulders and back visibly stiffened, and he shot a heated look at Connor. "She tell you that? That I wasn't there for her when she needed me?! That's fuckin' bullshit! You come waltzin' in here, thinking you know her – thinking you know _anythin'_ about her an' me, and what we went through together? The two of you are here, playin' house and makin' nice, but you'd better believe I was there for her when it counted. When it was just her and her little girl alone, I watched over them and made sure they had enough to eat. When her daughter went missin', I damn near died searching for her! Then when Sophia turned up as a walker, who do you think picked her up again when Carol's grief drove her to her knees? I been there for her, and she's been there for me! And when she needed lookin' after, I was the one she turned to, and there's no fuckin' way she said any different!"

"Dat right?" challenged Connor, tromping down the stairs and coming to stand in front of Daryl. "And when did you decide she didn't need lookin' after any more, huh? If Rick sent her away, he musta figured she was no longer under yer protection and he could get away with it. What'd you do when ye came back and found her gone, huh? Did ya start searchin' fer her straight away, or did ya wait 'til after ya'd beaten Rick black 'n blue to go after her?"

Daryl actually blanched, no mean feat considering the amount of dirt smeared over his tanned face. "I didn't get a chance to do anythin'; we were attacked, most of our people were killed…I figured she was probably dead…"

"So she was left alone, tryin' to keep a handful of wee ones alive and searchin' fer the lot of ya while ye did what, exactly?"

His hands balling up into fists, Daryl leapt off the step and shoved his way past Connor. "I don't gotta explain m'self to you, Mister Eurotrash! You weren't there; you don't know what it was like. All of us were just fightin' to stay alive, me included!"

Connor stalked after him. "Fine, den. And let's say I give ya dat one. When the gang was all together once more, and ya knew she was alive an' safe, and Rick tried _again_ to send her off...what'd ya do 'bout dat?"

Daryl whirled around and jabbed his finger against Connor's upper body, hitting the wounds beneath and causing black spots to float in front of Connor's eyes as the pain spiked. "She didn't give me a chance to fix things! She took off on me…"

"NO!" Connor hollered, puffing up his chest and getting in Daryl's face. "She was protectin' herself, 'cuz you left her no choice! You didn't have a care for her when you should have, and seein' you walkin' away like you did and not standin' up to dis gobshite Rick, she fairly assumed nothin' had changed! Ya think just by showin' up, ye've undone all the hurt you caused her? When I found her, she was broken. Truth be told, I think dat while she was goin' through the motions of survival, she had already given up. You figure you can undo dat by walkin' in, swingin' yer dick around and finally tellin' her that she means somethin' to ya?"

Daryl squinted hard, his expression hardening again. "You were listenin' to us! You bastard, ya had no right…"

"I got every right!" Connor hissed, refusing to back down. The anger was pouring out of him and he couldn't have stopped it if he'd wanted. "While ye were on your self-important, all-so-noble quest to find her, I was _here_! I held her when she revealed the weight of guilt she carries over the lives she took, while she cried over the betrayal to which she'd been subjected, and while she mourned the loss of what she believed she shared wit' ya! And she was healin', too. 'Til now, dat is."

The stricken look on Daryl's face told Connor he'd finally struck a nerve. "You're sayin' I shouldn't have come lookin' for her? That she'd have been better off without me?"

"I'm askin' dis: why'd you come lookin' for her at all?" Connor said haughtily. "Was it out of concern fer her, or concern fer yerself? Mebbe ye've finally figured out you can't make it without her or don't want to try, but I haven't heard one word about you wantin' to find her for _her_ sake. Do ya blame me fer questionin' yer motivations?"

Daryl sucked in a harsh breath and walked away a few feet, his back to Connor as he fought to process what he'd been told. After a few minutes, however, Daryl straightened up again and slowly turned to face his tormenter, his expression closed off and wary. "I don't think I'm the only one with an agenda here," he snarled. "You think I can't see what you're doin'? You've fallen for her, that much is crystal clear. Don't blame you there – I ain't never met anyone else like her either. But I'm gonna do whatever it takes to mend things b'tween her and me. You don't know Carol half as well as you like to think, boy. I screwed up but I know what it's gonna take to earn another chance. She was mine once and she's gonna be mine again, and you can bet your stumpy little shillelagh on that."

Connor smiled unpleasantly back at him. "Bring it, hillbilly."


	11. Chapter 11

_Thank you, most cherished reviewers, for your kind words about the last chapter. I think Daryl still has a long way to go, but if there's anyone who's going to teach him how to behave and to appreciate the amazing woman that Carol is, it's Connor..._

* * *

**Chapter 11**

Dusk had coloured the sky an almost dingy yellow before Connor finally spotted Carol making her back to the farm, shuffling unhurriedly along the same road he'd been travelling when he first found her. He sat up straighter from where he rested on the porch swing and glanced at Daryl, who was leaning against the house on the far end of the veranda. He was watching Carol, too, likely having noticed her approach at the same time. Both of them had been waiting in tense silence for her return, neither of them willing to budge from the house. As primitive and unbecoming as Connor knew it to be, they were both staking their claim – for either of them to venture very far from what amounted to Carol's territory would have amounted to a sign of capitulation. The situation was stupid and macho and well beneath him, there was no denying it, and yet Connor felt he had no choice but to join in the posturing lest Carol think he didn't take what they'd shared to this point seriously. As badly as it might have been damaged by past events, the bond between Carol and Daryl was obvious and Connor would be a fool to discount it.

That didn't mean he was going to _make_ a fool of himself in the process, though.

"Do you care enough about her to give her some measure of peace?" Connor asked only loudly enough so that Daryl could hear.

Daryl stopped gnawing on his thumbnail and gave Connor an irritated sideways glare. "What the fuck are you talkin' about?"

Connor stood, the exertion and stress of the day causing his injuries to throb as he did so. "Look at her – she's comin' up dat lane as though she's takin' a walk to the gallows. What I'm sayin' is dat you and me set our aside our differences when she's about. B'tween us, we'll come to an understandin' and take the burden of impossible choices off her shoulders. Or are ya too focused on what getting' what ya want to care if she continues to suffer?"

Giving Carol a long, speculative look, Daryl finally nodded and turned to face Connor again. "Don't wanna see her hurtin' anymore. What'd ya have in mind?"

"Neither of us are willin' to leave, so we lay out boundaries. Durin' the night, Carol's in the house and on her own unless she decides otherwise. I'll go back to the granary where I was livin' b'fore my accident, and ya can find a spot of yer own on the property to set up camp."

"You haven't already been…_stayin'_ with her?" Daryl eyed him suspiciously. "Seemed pretty cozy in there this mornin'."

The small and petty part of Connor wanted Daryl to think he and Carol had already consummated their relationship, but he was unwilling to tarnish her reputation by implying what he only wished was true. Besides, to suggest that something had happened would likely get Daryl's hackles up again, and that was exactly what he needed to avoid. "She wanted to remain close because of my injuries; she shared a bed wit' me but that's as far as it went. Nothin' more to it – at least, not yet."

"Not ever," growled Daryl. "And don't you forget it. But yeah, okay. And during the day?"

"We work together and bury the hatchet whenever she's 'round both of us. If yer here to stay, there's a helluva lot more work we need to do to get ready for winter; we had provisions enough for two, but not for three. If, however, she asks somethin' from only one of us, the other respects her decision and keeps his distance."

"For her, I'll do it. But just give me cause, and I swear I'll find a way to get you alone and kick your goddamned ass."

"You can try," Connor replied calmly, marking Carol's progress towards the house and knowing they had damned little time to solidify the contract. He wasn't naïve enough to believe his suggestion was a long term solution but if it eased Carol's worries, it was well worth trying. "I might be at a disadvantage right now but ye'd best watch your back when I'm back on me feet again, boyo." He offered his hand. "We agreed, den? Give me yer word as a man of honour an' we'll say nothin' more about it."

Daryl wiped his hand across his filthy thigh and extended it so they could seal the deal. He tightened his fingers, not enough to cause pain but more than enough to send an unspoken message indicating that while a ceasefire was in place, the war was far from over. He held Connor's gaze without flinching, and only broke eye contact when Carol reached the base of the stairs.

She stared at both of them, surprise and confusion clear on her face. She had clearly expected them to be scrapping in the dirt like wolves fighting over a kill. "What's going on?"

Daryl descended the steps, stopping beside her. "I'm gonna go find a spot for my tent, then do a quick perimeter check to make sure we're not gonna be bothered by anythin' tonight. Get some rest; you let me know tomorrow what needs doin' 'round here and I'll get to it." After hesitating for a second, Daryl reached for her hand and stroked his fingers lightly across hers. "I'm sorry again 'bout this mornin'," he mumbled as he ducked to brush his lips across her cheek before stalking off across the yard.

Carol's mouth fell open and she stared at Connor in stunned silence. "What on earth happened while I was gone? I was sure I'd find one of you dead by the time I got back."

"It'll sort itself out, Carol," he said with firm conviction, leaning back against one of the support posts on the veranda. His strength was fading fast and he needed to get himself back to his cot as quickly as he could without falling over. "Ye've me apologies fer this mornin', too. Old habits die hard, I'm afraid – he seemed a threat at the time and me instincts took over. Won't happen again."

She arched her eyebrow in disbelief. "So what are you saying? That you think I should let him stay?"

"Doesn't matter what I think. Yer callin' the shots here; neither Daryl nor I have any right to force a choice on ya. If ya want him here, we'll make it work."

"Even if he could find them again, there's no way Rick would allow him back with the group. For him to defy Rick in front of everyone and come after me – there'd be no forgiveness for that," she said in a quiet rush, clearly believing she owed Connor an explanation. "I can't throw him out. Daryl's not the kind of guy who does very well alone."

"Yet he was willin' to endure exactly that in order to find you," Connor mused to himself. A quote about courage not being the absence of fear but the willingness to act despite it came to mind. He absently rubbed at his sore chest as he considered that perhaps there was more to the man than first impressions would indicate. Seemed only right, though, that if Daryl was going to insist on walking around wearing Murphy's face, the least he could do was show a little of the same fortitude possessed by Connor's beloved brother.

Carol's expression grew grim and she hurried up the stairs to his side. "You're in pain. And that dressing should have been changed this morning…"

"Took care of it meself," Connor assured her. "T'is no more than a bit of an ache now and not worth the worry I'm hearin' in yer voice. Gonna call it a night and hope tomorrow's a better day."

"Come on, then," she said, taking his hand and tugging towards the door. "We'll get you to bed…"

With more regret than he allowed himself to reveal, Connor shook his head and withdrew his hand from hers. Although their agreement had stipulated that Carol would have the house to herself overnight _unless_ she wanted company, he was well aware that Daryl would see it as a slap in the face if Connor crossed her threshold right after the two men had come to a shaky truce. "I think I'd best be getting' back to me own lodgings," he said with a rueful smile, encouraged that she still wanted him nearby despite Daryl's presence. "It's for the best."

"You're right," she admitted, and he could see by the glance she cast in Daryl's direction that she understood Connor's reluctance. She raised herself on her tiptoes, though, and kissed his cheek. Even that brief contact caused his heart to skip a beat, and he silently cursed the fact that time and circumstance prevented him from following through on his impulse.

He indulged himself in a quick hug, however, and then quickly released her so his good intentions weren't tested too greatly. "Good night, luv," he murmured, taking the steps slowly so as not to jar his injuries. "Lock up tight behind me, that's me girl. Don't want to be havin' anymore unexpected wake-up calls, do ya?"

Carol gave a light laugh. "I guess that depends on the _kind_ of wake-up call. Good night, Connor."

Before he could turn and reward her teasing with a wicked grin, the screen door had already slammed shut behind her and she'd disappeared into her house.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

"Get the fuck outta my way, MacManus!" Daryl stood at the front door to the house, clutching his few belongings in his arms as his eyes darkened with anger.

"Not gonna happen, Dixon," Connor said, planting his feet firmly and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Carol said we're all gonna have to share the house now that the weather's turned, so you could at least try to be less of a dick head!" Daryl barked, trying to shoulder Connor aside but to no avail. Once the injuries from the incident with the flash bang grenade had healed, Connor was every bit a match for Daryl in strength and doubly so when it came to pig-headedness.

Although the two of them had largely held to their agreement from a month earlier, tensions had been steadily building as conditions outside had worsened and it simply became too uncomfortable to sleep outdoors. If Carol had thought that bringing everyone together under one roof would ease the growing dissent, though, Connor knew she was setting herself up for a grand disappointment. He couldn't think of a more volatile situation than the three of them together during long, dark days and with each man coveting her favour.

Thoughts of that inevitable and deeply personal conflict weren't what prompted Connor to block Daryl's access to the house on this fine day, however. It was for everyone's greater good, really, that he'd stepped up and taken a stand.

"I'll not be trapped in here 'til spring with someone whose idea of personal hygiene involves getting caught in the occasional downpour," Connor snarled, refusing to budge. "Bad enough standin' next to ya outside. Worked on a sheep farm and thought I'd never smelled worse, but ya went and proved me wrong."

"Well, I musta missed my appointment at the beauty salon this week," Daryl snapped, chucking his effects aside and curling his hands into white-knuckled fists. "Excuse the hell outta me if I spend more time huntin' down food for the winter and fightin' off the dead than combing my hair and paintin' my toenails!"

"Not lookin' ta turn ya into a beauty queen, Daryl – God knows soap can only do so much for someone with such staggering physical shortcomings. But at least me an' Carol would feel like we're sharing the house with another person rather than livestock."

"When you put it that way, mebbe I _should_ shower. You worked on a sheep farm, huh? I have a feeling you were _really _close with your flock. Bet you were awful popular with all the lady sheep, and I sure wouldn't want you confusin' me with your girlfriend Flossie one dark night…" Daryl curled his lip in mock disgust.

"That's it!" roared Connor. "At least take off those feckin' clothes so I can take a match to 'em! Can't stand it a second longer!"

Daryl fluttered his eyes and made a kissy face at Connor. "Baaaaaah."

Although Connor's rational self knew he was being purposely provoked, the stress of the previous month finally got the better of him. He seized Daryl by the front of his shirt and wrested him away from doorway. Before he could draw his fist back far enough to slug him, though, Daryl knocked one of Connor's legs out from under him and both of them fell to the veranda amidst a tangled flurry of punches and kicks.

Connor had only just succeeded in pinning Daryl to the planks of the veranda by twisting the man's arm behind his back and leaning the whole of his weight against his struggling, loudly protesting adversary when he noticed that Carol was standing on the steps watching them, her hands resting on her hips and an expression of almost maternal resignation on her face.

Taking advantage of the fact that Connor was momentarily distracted, Daryl bucked Connor off and scrambled out from beneath him. Spotting Carol on the stairs, his cheeks flushed hard red and he shifted uncomfortably under her inquiring gaze. "He started it," Daryl muttered sullenly, casting an accusatory sideways glance at Connor.

Carol snorted and then began to giggle, and Connor couldn't help but laugh as well as the sheer ridiculousness of the situation dawned on him. A sheepish grin crept over Daryl's face too, and Connor noted to himself that it was the first time he'd actually seen the man smile.

"I'd send the both of you to bed without supper," Carol chuckled, biting her lip and shaking her head, "except Daryl needs to have a bath before he gets anywhere near his nice clean sheets."

Connor pointed at Daryl, shaking his finger. "Ha! Told ya so!" he crowed victoriously.

Carol rolled her eyes but the grin never left her face. "It's like having my brothers back again; they used to scrap at the drop of a hat, too. Mind you, they were _ten_ when they were doing it…"

The thought of his brother dashed Connor's good spirits instantly, as sure as if Carol had thrown a bucket of ice water in his face. She was exactly right – how many times had he and Murphy ended up tussling as he and Daryl had been, and not just when they were kids? Remembering those times tore his heart out all over again, the agony of missing Murph more excruciating than any physical injury he'd ever sustained.

Something about Carol's words seemed to have hit Daryl every bit as hard. The hunter slowly picked himself up off of the veranda and quietly began retrieving his items from where he dropped them, the pain in his eyes impossible to miss. Carol, upon realizing that her remark had upset both men deeply, pressed her palm to her chest and gave them both a look of devastated regret.

"I'm so sorry," she said softly, meeting Connor's gaze even as she went to Daryl and gently laid her hand on his shoulder. "I wasn't thinking…"

"I'm gonna go check da snares," Connor announced quietly, needing to retreat into his own thoughts for a time. Maybe his reaction was overstated given that so far as he knew, Murphy was still alive, but being around someone who resembled his brother so strongly made the fact of Murph's absence worse.

"Connor, please…" Carol began and he shook his head to forestall further conversation.

"I'm a'right," he promised, giving her a reassuring smile and brushing the back of his knuckles over her cheek comfortingly. "Just need a bit of solitude right now. I'll be back in a bit; might be I'll be bringing supper back with me if we're lucky."

He turned and lumbered down the stairs, striking out for the distant woods as tears burned behind his eyes and his vision blurred.

* * *

Connor returned a few hours later, the late afternoon sun well-hidden behind the hazy grey clouds that were more and more common given the time of year. There was the scent of snow in the air and he expected that they'd see flurries before the night was out. It would almost certainly melt once the sun rose again but the winter season was fast approaching. The single quail and the scrawny squirrel that had been caught in their traps wouldn't offer much nourishment, but they could perhaps add to the meat with some of the fruit Carol had put away in jars.

He circled the veranda with a thought to taking the game directly into the kitchen to gut it but stopped before opening the back door when he heard Carol's voice coming from within. Peeking around the doorframe, he saw that she'd dragged the galvanized tub into the kitchen so it would be close to the warmth of the stove, and Daryl was submerged as deep as he could get into the water within.

"If you sit up a bit, I'll scrub your back for you," Carol offered, and Daryl silently complied as she knelt on a towel behind him. Connor's eyes widened in surprise when he saw Daryl's bare back, covered in a series of ugly, dark scars that he knew could only have come from being repeatedly whipped. They weren't recent; the marks had the pearly sheen that only old wounds had, but that made them no less disturbing in Connor's view. Daryl had gone through something truly horrific and it was impossible not to feel a pang of sympathy for whatever terrible suffering he'd endured.

Carol moved aside the long, wet strands of Daryl's hair and then rubbed a bar of soap between her hands, working up a lather before she began to spread it in leisurely circles over the man's badly marred skin. Her touch was gentle but thorough, and Connor couldn't help the surge of envy that it was Daryl and not he who was the subject of her attentions. Daryl's muscles flexed and rolled as her hands moved over his slick skin, and he bowed his head with a sigh as Carol massaged the nape of his neck.

"Some days, I still don't believe he's actually gone," Daryl murmured, his voice thick with sorrow. "You know when you first wake up in the mornin' and for those few seconds, you forget all the bad stuff and you think you're back at home, and everything is the way it used to be? I almost expect to hear him hollerin' at me to get my sorry ass outta bed or he'll drag it out hisself…"

Carol paused and Connor saw her hand tremble slightly before she resumed her task. "I know. There've been times when I'm dozing and thinking to myself that I'd better get Sophia out of bed so she won't be late for school." She stopped and she combed her fingers through Daryl's wet hair, a gesture that seemed to Connor to be incredibly intimate. "I'm sorry I said anything – I didn't mean to hurt you."

Daryl tried to respond but his breath hitched in his chest, and it took him a few seconds to collect himself again. "It wasn't what you said, Carol. I think about him all the time. I know he could be a shitty human being but he was all I had, y'know?"

"He was your brother and I know you loved him. But he isn't all you had, Daryl. That hasn't been true for a long time," she whispered sorrowfully.

"Carol, I'm sorry," Daryl rasped, his voice cracking as a sob escaped his lips. "That I didn't treat you like I shoulda…that I couldn't see what I had with you when we was together…"

Their grief was almost palpable and nearly unbearable to listen to, but what struck Connor more than anything in that very private moment was that Carol and Daryl were inextricably bound together – through their losses, through the life that they'd shared since the rise of the walkers, through the very fact of their survival. That was never going to change. He would never hold the same place in her heart that Daryl occupied regardless of what he did.

As he watched, Carol's arms slipped around Daryl's shoulders and she tucked her face against his neck, her faint cries muffled against Daryl's skin. Connor left the game on the stoop and stole back around the corner of the house, his sense of loss compounded by all he had just witnessed.


	13. Chapter 13

**First of all, thank you to RedHeadedPixieGrunger for her help in sorting out the sequence of events in this chapter. She is an amazing author and was invaluable in getting this all figured out!**

**WARNING: **_Contrary to the generally accepted rules of writing, I have taken a sharp right-hand turn and switched the POV for this chapter. Strictly speaking, this is a HUGE writing no-no if one has only used a single POV for the rest of the story, but I felt compelled to do so for a couple of reasons. First of all, the last scene between Daryl and Carol did not bring about any resolution, seeing as Connor (rightfully) removed himself from the situation before it went any further. Secondly, there is a scene included in this chapter that would NOT have worked if I described it from Connor's viewpoint, and so I switched it to Daryl. If you'd rather not read it, Chapter 13 forwards the plot but not so much you won't be able to figure out what happened by waiting and reading Chapter 14 when it's posted. I *know* I shouldn't have switched point of view at this juncture of the story but if you do read it, you will likely understand why I felt it was necessary._

_P.S. Thanks to everyone who is reading/reviewing. Even if this chapter isn't exactly your cup of tea, I hope you'll stick around for the rest of the story!_

* * *

It seemed to Daryl that since he'd met Carol Peletier, he burst into tears more often than any grown man oughta.

Somewhere along the line she'd managed to unlock the part of his heart where he kept all the sadness and bad feelings, and forgot to close the door behind her. When his emotions got the better of him around other people, he felt foolish and weak but when it happened with Carol…well, with her it was _different_. It was like she took all his unhappiness into herself and for a while, the static would fade away and his world was quiet and calm again. Peaceful.

Hearing _her_ cry, though – that was something else altogether. When she wept, his heart broke into tiny, sharp pieces that threatened to shred him from the inside out, and he wanted to lash out at whoever caused it and put them through just as much pain as she was suffering. What he'd finally come to understand, though, was that when Carol did break down, he was almost always the source of her misery.

He was an asshole, pure and simple. Undeserving of her kindness, unworthy of her love – and yet she kept forgiving him for his idiotic, selfish behaviour. It didn't take a genius to understand that Carol probably would have been better off if Daryl hadn't come after her.

But he couldn't just let her go. That probably made him an even _bigger_ asshole but he didn't want anyone except Carol. He had to earn another chance so he could finally make it up to her; he needed to give back even a little of what she'd given to him.

"Don't," he begged her softly, running his fingertips over the smooth skin of her forearms where they rested against his chest. "Please, angel – I don't want you to cry anymore."

Carol sniffled and gave a sad sounding laugh. "We're quite a pair, aren't we?" she sighed shakily. "I'm going to go finish tidying up the bedrooms for you and Connor so you can get moved in and settled. There's some clean clothes folded on the chair; I'm sure you want at least a little privacy so you can get dressed.…"

"Carol, please wait…" he said, not wanting to let her walk away before he had a chance to say something. _Anything_. Christ, he had no idea how to put what he felt into words but he didn't want to let her go so soon after they'd finally reconnected. As he twisted around, though, he found that himself face to face with her, close enough that he could feel her breath soft against his mouth and see the surprise in her shockingly beautiful eyes.

Those few seconds seemed like an eternity as they stared at one another, and Daryl wondered if she could hear how hard and fast his heart was pounding against the inside of the metal tub. It had been so long coming, this moment, but now that he had his chance to show her what was in his heart, his courage faltered. If he kissed her and then found out she'd never wanted that from him – that she didn't see him as the kind of man she wanted to be with – he wasn't sure how he'd handle that.

She must have read the indecision on his face because she slowly drew her arms from around him and sat back on her heels. "No. I'm done waiting for you, Daryl," she whispered, her voice filled with the pain of old hurts and disappointments. "I don't want to do this anymore. Trying to figure out what I mean to you, wanting to be with you, letting myself believe if I was patient enough…." She shook her head. "I think we'll both be further ahead if we finally admit it wasn't meant to be between us and accept that we'll never be anything more than friends."

His pulse skittered in panic as she rose to leave and without giving it a second thought, Daryl shot to his feet. Cloudy water spilled all over the linoleum floor and Carol jumped back with a startled squeak. "Whoa! What? No, you don't get it…" he protested, dripping wet as he stepped from the tub and reached for her. "I want you but I just don't know how to do that with someone. Well, not _that_, y'know, but how to be with someone I care about! That…that I _love_."

Carol's eyes got wide, her mouth gaped open and her cheeks went a bright pink. It wasn't until then that Daryl realized she probably wasn't reacting to the long-awaited declaration of his deepest feelings so much as she was to seeing him standing stark naked in front of her. While she might have caught glimpses of him over the years in various states of undress – living in close proximity made such incidents inevitable – she'd never seen him completely nude. Even when he'd shed his clothes an hour earlier and climbed into the bathtub, Carol had respectfully kept her back turned. He hesitated, unsure of what to do and in the end decided to do nothing. It was all out there now, literally and figuratively, and the next move was hers.

As he stood in a quickly cooling puddle, Daryl watched as a lacy flush spread down Carol's neck and then across her collarbone, the pale freckles sprinkled over her chest all but vanishing in its rosy wake. Her breasts were rising and falling faster as her breath grew shallower, and her nipples went stiff and pushed against the flimsy material of her shirt. The tip of her tongue darted out and swept across her bottom lip, and his cock began to stir as her heavy lidded, longing gaze swept over the entire length of his body.

In the end Daryl wasn't sure if it was the sight of his growing arousal that shook her up or if his words had finally sunk in, but she suddenly seemed to come to her senses and gasped, whirling away from him. "No. No, I won't go there. I think that whatever _this_ is has a lot more to do with the rivalry between you and Connor than anything else. You only want me now because there's another man in the picture, and I refuse to be the trophy in some stupid, testosterone-fuelled competition. If you had found me and Connor wasn't here, I'm willing to bet you'd never have said that you loved me."

His anger flared and he almost snapped at her that he hadn't tracked her for six months because he wanted to weave friendship bracelets, but the cold sobering reality of what she'd said hit him hard. She was probably right – if he'd found her alone, he'd likely have continued to keep those long-suppressed feelings to himself, not because they weren't important but because it would have been safer to stay quiet about it and not put his heart on the line.

Regardless of what _he_ wanted, Carol should have something better. Connor had nailed it when he grilled Daryl about his intentions the day he'd found them together. Daryl loved Carol but that didn't mean being with him was what was best for her.

"I was stupid to wait as long as I did," he said quietly, retrieving a towel from the kitchen table and cinching it around his hips. "I see now if I'd had the guts to tell you how I felt from the start, a lot of what we went through – what _you_ went through – would never have happened. When it's all said and done, I only want you to be safe and happy. If I'd known that you already found that with someone else, I would have stayed away."

Carol looked over her shoulder at him. There were tears in her eyes and he hated himself all over again for putting them there. "If I asked you to leave, would you go?"

The pain that lanced through his chest was staggering but Daryl forced it back and simply nodded. "I can't stand to see you hurtin' and know I'm the one who caused it. Connor will look after ya better than I ever did, and that's what you need. What you deserve. I don't wanna get in the way of that."

She broke her gaze and turned away again, but not before he saw her wiping her tears away with her shirt sleeve. "I care about Connor; he's attentive, funny, kind and protective, and I was desperately lonely before he got here," she confessed quietly. "If you hadn't come, we might have made a life for ourselves and he would have been enough for me. But that wouldn't have been fair to him either, because I wouldn't want to be just 'enough' for someone. I'd want to be '_everything_.' You're my everything, Daryl. If you truly want to be with me, I have to know I'd be your everything, too."

Relief flooded Daryl's veins and joy lifted his heart. He closed the short distance between them and pulled her back against him, nestling his face against the softly-scented crook of her neck. She hugged his arms to her, trembling and clinging to him as though she was afraid he might suddenly disappear on her. And fuck if he didn't find himself bawling yet again.

* * *

Carol took Daryl by his hand and led him up the dark stairwell to her room. She pulled the blinds and lit a small gas lantern, casting a golden light that made their shadows dance over the walls. Still clad in nothing more than his towel, Daryl reached for her and pulled her close, whispering to her about how much he needed her as he slowly stripped her of her clothes. The glow of the lantern turned her bare skin the colour of ripe peaches and Daryl gazed at her, marveling at the smooth perfection of her body and the molten desire than shone from her blue eyes. She tangled her fingers in the damp locks of his hair and he turned his face into her hand so that his cheek was cradled against her palm, closing his eyes and sighing at her gentle touch.

Thousands of times, he'd tossed and turned at night, wondering what it would be like to take Carol to bed. The truth was, he could never quite square what he wanted to do to her with what he felt for her – she was above that in his mind. It hadn't seemed right to think of her on those terms.

But now…even without actually having done more than exchange a couple of soul-wrenching kisses, Daryl knew what he would share with Carol would make the few pathetic sexual encounters he'd had before her seem even more superficial and meaningless. Everything was about to change and he was beyond ready for that to happen.

Carol tugged the towel from his waist and tossed it aside, tucking herself against him the second he was completely naked and lifting her face to receive another slow, hot kiss. He cradled her jaw in his hands and explored her with leisurely decadence, their tongues tangling lazily as they sought out the sensitive secrets hidden within. Daryl shivered as she dragged her fingernails down his back and over the swell of his ass, and his cock twitched hard against her navel as she rolled her hips against his.

She walked backwards, drawing him with her until she reached her four-poster bed, draped in a beautiful quilt and scattered with a half dozen embroidered pillows. She eased back on the covers, her eyes locked with his as she reclined and held her hand out in invitation. He stood staring at her for a few minutes, sending up a silent prayer of thanks for all she was offering him before he crawled over top of her, staying on his hands and knees as he dropped more kisses on her throat and marked a hot, damp trail down between her breasts.

"You're so damn beautiful," he breathed, nuzzling her belly and inhaling the faint scent of feminine need rising from between her legs. She gave a giggly sigh as his whiskers tickled her tummy and she squirmed in his hold, trying to pull away. Smiling, he clutched her ass a bit tighter and held her in place as he did it again, circling her belly button with the tip of his tongue before he planted a line of soft kisses down to where sparse silvery curls vainly tried to conceal her fragrant sex.

Carol's whimpered as he nudged her cleft, her fingers tightening in his hair as his breath broke hot against her sensitive flesh. He set his hand against her mound and spread his fingers in a 'v', exposing her slick, glistening pussy. She gasped lightly as he probed at her with the tip of his tongue, grazing her swollen folds and the tiny quivering pearl hidden within. Breathing her in deeply, he lapped at her with the flat of his tongue, stealing one intoxicating taste at a time and coaxing moans of pleasure from her throat. It wouldn't take much to push her over the edge, he knew, but they were in no rush and he was going to make fucking sure she remembered this first time forever. God knew she'd waited on him long enough…

He kissed his way back up her torso, stopping off on the journey long enough to lavish attention on her jutting breasts. When he cupped the first creamy handful and sucked her hard, tawny tip onto his tongue, her breath caught and she thrust herself as far into his mouth as she could, writhing helplessly against him. Her hips jerked up each time he drew on her nipple, silently demanding that he give her even more and testing his well-intended restraint.

Her reactions were so honest, so passionate, that Daryl felt dizzy with lust. He hadn't slept with anyone since well before the two of them had met, and Daryl was sure it had been almost as long for her as well. Being with her now, touching her and listening to how she responded, made him feel doubly idiotic for waiting to declare his feelings. How much better life would have been for both of them if he'd be brave enough to show her…

Daryl cursed with unexpected pleasure as she reached down between them and took his cock in her small hand. Her cool fingers skimmed over his engorged head and swept down his shaft, chills shaking his body as she touched him with infinite gentleness. He surged up and took hungry possession of her mouth as she tightened her grip, stroking him slowly and then faster, making him so hard that he wondered how he didn't pass out from lack of blood to his brain.

"Tell me again that you love me," she pleaded against his lips, and he pulled back to see tears tracking from the corners of her eyes and disappearing into her hair. "I need to hear it. I need to believe it."

"Always," he swore with ragged breath, his heart aching at the desperation in her voice. "Oh, angel…I've loved you for longer than I even knew it. Gonna love you with every part of me from here on in, I swear it…"

She nodded, her eyes fluttering closed. "Show me, then. I have to feel you moving inside me, Daryl…I can't wait."

With one last, long stroke, she released his cock and eased her arms around his neck, pulling him back down for a kiss that was filled with all the passion she'd held back over the years. He spread her legs with his knees, sliding a hand along her outer thigh so he could hook it over his hip and open her up wide enough to take him. While she quaked beneath him in anticipation, he slid himself inside her tight velvety channel with one swift lunge.

He groaned and his head arched back, the sheer perfection of being enveloped in her sweet warmth shaking him to his soul. Carol's low throaty moan of fulfillment was the most amazing sound he'd ever heard and he knew in that moment she could feel the connection as intensely as he could. Daryl stared down into her eyes as he finally began to move, withdrawing slowly before driving himself back into the sanctity of her body.

Carol met each jarring pace thrust for thrust, angling her hips to try to take him deeper each time. Her muscles rippled around him, caressing him in the most intimate way possible and coaxing him ever closer to orgasm. He felt surrounded by her – her delicate scent, the satiny feel of her skin, the soft cries as her desire swept her away – and he knew there was no place he belonged in the world so much as with Carol.

The sting of her fingernails piercing the skin on his shoulder blades made him hiss, but it was a pain that only fed his need. With a growl, he let his control slip and pounded harder into the cradle of her legs, gritting his teeth as he fought back the swiftly rising pressure in his balls. There was no way he was going to cum before she could – there would be no satisfaction for him if she didn't find hers first.

Rearing back on his haunches, Daryl flipped Carol over and impaled her again on his straining sex. Clutching her hip tightly, he rode her hard from behind as he slipped his hand beneath her and found her clit, stroking the hard, fleshy bud with the pad of his thumb in time to his thrusts. Her thighs shook against his and her cries grew louder as she fisted the blankets upon which they lay, her slick skin gleaming with a fine sheen of sweat as he slammed into her. Suddenly her limbs seized up and she screamed his name as her body clenched around him, sparking a white-hot orgasm that hit him so hard that he couldn't find enough breath to even cry out.

If he'd been standing, Daryl's legs would have given out and he'd have fallen to the floor. As it was, he collapsed onto his side and pulled Carol with him, still buried deep inside her body as the last spasms worked their way through him. She gasped for air, her strength completely spent despite the tremors that had her shivering in the aftermath of their loving.

When she didn't say anything for a while, Daryl got worried. Maybe he hadn't met her expectations – someone like her might not have wanted to be treated so roughly. He should have been slower, more tender, more caring. He'd been so overwhelmed by every incredible sensation, every passionate sound, every newfound feeling that it never even occurred to him that maybe she had needed something more from him than he'd been capable of giving her.

Propping himself up on one elbow, he slid his hand up her arm and waited until she'd turned enough to look up at him. He sighed with relief to see an expression of sated bliss on her face, her eyes sparkling with happiness as she smiled. "You alright?" he asked, brushing her sweat-dampened hair back from her temple and pressing a tender kiss to her shoulder.

She shifted around until they were facing one another, twining her legs through his and slipping her arm around his waist. "I've never been better," she whispered, biting her lip as she gazed at him lovingly. "That was…oh, Daryl. I don't even have the words."

He nestled his cheek against the top of her head and hugged her tightly. Her joy and contentment was profoundly moving, so much so that the back of his throat ached as he choked back his emotions. As Carol snuggled against him, he pulled the covers up over both of them and then covertly used the corner of the quilt to dab away what he swore was the last tear he'd ever cry over his past mistakes.


	14. Chapter 14

Connor had spent a long sleepless night wondering what was possibly left to keep him tethered to the world. He might not have hung around the house for the grand finale, but the shadows he had seen from Carol's window before she'd pulled the blinds spelled out a story of heartbreak in stark relief.

He stirred the remains of his campfire with a charred bit of wood and watched the dawn arrive, the palest of pinks creeping over the edge of the earth as though the sun feared what new horrors it might discover. There was no point in returning to Boston – there was nothing left there but the most bittersweet of memories, and he hadn't the strength to face the ruins of the life he and Murph had once shared there. But he didn't know if he could bear to stay and watch Daryl Dixon spend his days with the woman who had finally roped Connor's wayward heart. Or whether he'd even be welcome to stay now that they'd found their way into one another's arms.

Given the nature of the Calling and the holy task that had been visited upon the MacManus brothers, Connor hadn't pursued a serious relationship since they'd made the crossing to America. He figured there was time enough to put those sorts of longings on hold, time enough to find a sweet Catholic girl – with a younger sister for Murph, no doubt – and settle into raising a brood of fine, strong-willed, braying children. But then time ran out and there were no more tomorrows for such dreams, not really. Not when every last person left behind following the Rapture had nothing left to focus upon but surviving from sunrise to sunset.

Over the months he'd spent with Carol, Connor had dealt with his loss quietly and finally resigned himself to the fact that Murphy was likely gone forever. He'd thought that perhaps the powers above had led him to Carol so that he could move forth with purpose, have someone to care for who would care for him in return, but even she was lost to him now.

And so he sat, desperate to be moved by the Spirit to find a new place to go, a new quest to fulfill. Alas, nothing came to him and for the first time since Murphy had boarded the plane to Ireland, Connor felt utterly and completely forsaken.

The faint creak of the front door caught his ear and he glanced up from where he sat, halfway hoping it was Carol come to tell him that she'd made a terrible mistake and begging his forgiveness. Even that frail fantasy was dashed, however, when he saw Daryl slowly descending the stairs with his crossbow on his shoulder and headed towards where Connor sat.

He watched Daryl reluctantly shuffle towards him and he tried with ever fibre of his being to hate the man – hate him for who he was, for what he had stolen from Connor, for what he meant to Carol – but there was no malice left in Connor's soul with which to do so. Daryl had his own tragic story; more importantly, though, Carol was an intricate part of that tale, threaded so tightly into the weave of Daryl's life that to expect anything but what had finally happened seemed completely ridiculous in retrospect.

"Ya didn't come back to the house," Daryl grunted, hoisting the strap of his weapon onto his shoulder so it hung securely on his back. "Carol got worried that somethin' happened to ya. Woulda been searchin' the whole of the woods if she hadn't seen the smoke from yer fire."

Connor smiled wryly. "But she didn't miss me 'til this mornin', I'll wager," he said offhandedly, poking at the last few glowing embers in amongst the greyish ash. "I suspect her mind was well occupied with other matters last night."

Daryl had the good grace to drop his eyes and look ill at ease. "Look, man – I don't rightly know what I can say to ya that'd make the whole situation any better," he said, kicking at a shred of loose bark with his foot. "It kills her to know that she's hurtin' you but this thing between me an' her…" He shrugged and shook his head. "It's been so long in comin', y'know? And I sure as fuck know that I don't deserve her but she sees somethin' in me…makes me _feel_ more than I ever did before…"

Holding up a hand to stop Daryl from going any further, Connor waited until the other man's words had trailed away before he spoke. "Yer damned right ya don't deserve her but 'tis clear she loves ya beyond all reason. If dis is what she wants, den she can have it and me blessin' both. But know dis," he said, his voice low and threatening. "If ya cause her another moment of sorrow…if ya don't have a care for dat precious wee heart o' hers...I'll make you rue the day. Don't think dat I won't or can't!"

Daryl nodded, but then a slight grin twitched at one side of his mouth. "Guess yer gonna hafta hang around, then, if only to make sure I don't fuck the whole thing up."

Connor couldn't have been more surprised if Daryl had dropped to one knee and proposed marriage. He was sure the man Carol had ultimately chosen had come to chase the other rooster from the henhouse. "Don't have nuttin' pressin' on me calendar at dis moment, so I s'pose I could," he replied, attempting a smile despite the empty ache in his chest.

Daryl looked around and then worked the axe loose from the chopping block, tossing it aside so he could sit on the heavy, scarred log. Connor watched the thin wisps of smoke twisting upwards, the delicate tendrils torn apart as a tepid breeze blew across the lawn and melted the few sparse patches of snow from the night before. The silence between the two men held an air of expectation; Daryl wanted him to understand the why of what had happened, and Connor wearily waited for him to reveal whatever he felt needed knowing.

"When the world first went to shit," Daryl finally began, twisting his toe against one of the stones lining the fire pit, "My older brother and me ended up in the same camp as Carol and her family – her husband and her little girl. We didn't hardly have anythin' to do with each other then, but stuff happened and after a while we was kind of drawn to one another. See, she'd been getting' beaten up by her husband 'til he died and back when I was a kid, I…"

Daryl stopped talking, scowling at memories he clearly had no wish to revisit. He absently rubbed at his chest and Connor wondered if the same scars that Daryl brandished on his back could be found other places on the man's body, too. "Whatcha gotta know about Carol was that with every awful thing that happened to her, she just got stronger," Daryl continued. "And even when the worst happened and Sophia – that was her daughter – went missin' and then turned up a walker, she kept lookin' after everyone else even when it all had to be eatin' her up inside. Kept lookin' after _me_."

"And what of yer brother?" Connor asked softly, puzzled that Daryl had only mentioned his sibling in passing. "What happened to him dat he wasn't dere for ya?"

Daryl chuffed and then blinked hard, and Connor recognized the same grief he'd witnessed the day before when Carol had made what had seemed an innocent comment. "He got hisself left behind on a supply run, and then up and disappeared before I could find him. Just when I got him back, he tried to be a hero and ended up gettin' killed by the same dickwad who overran the prison where we were all livin'. Merle was a stupid fuckin' asshole – don't know what he was thinkin', goin' all noble like that and all fer nothin' in the end."

"Not fer nuttin'. Not if he did it outta love fer ya. I'd do no less fer me brother, and I know he'd do the same fer me."

There was the sheen of unshed tears in Daryl's eyes as he squinted at Connor. "Where is he? _Your_ brother?"

"Murphy's an ocean away," Connor revealed with a hollow voice, the distance seeming even greater in the acknowledgement. "Went back to see to our mum b'fore the planes were grounded, and that's the last I know." He focused his gaze on Daryl and shook his head. "Ya look very much like him – 'tis one of yer few redeemin' qualities, I must say."

Daryl didn't rise to the bait, more the pity. Connor had become suddenly desperate to end the conversation. Taking inventory of all that was missing from his life was a pointless exercise and would serve only to deepen his despair. "Do you remember, back b'fore all this happened," Daryl muttered softly, "and you'd be readin' somethin' in the papers about a person gone missin', and the cops would say that if only they could find the body, the family could move on…that not knowin' was worse than anythin'?"

"Aye," Connor replied, thinking back to all the platitudes that people who'd rarely had to deal with loss liked to spout. He was on a first name basis with Death, knew what a merciless bastard he was.

Daryl shook his head sharply. "That's a fuckin' lie. 'Cuz as many times as I tried to tell m'self that Merle was probably dead, I still held onto that tiny piece of hope all that time. But when I saw what the Governor had done to him, when I had to drive my knife through his brain and saw fer m'self that it was real, that it truly was over…I wish now I'd never found him. Losin' him for sure, that was way worse than not knowin'."

Overcome, Daryl stood and walked a few yards away, his head bowed low and his hands in white-knuckled fists at his sides as he struggled to regain composure. Closure was a myth, Connor knew. He still carried the pain of his losses around in his heart like a weight. His da, Rocco…everyone else who'd fallen with the walker scourge…there was no peace to be had knowing they were gone.

Connor was almost ashamed for the torment that Murphy's absence caused him when he witnessed Daryl's sorrow; the tie the MacManus brothers shared remained even if it was being tested by a vast, impassable expanse of water. Strained but not severed, not by a long shot. He stood and walked over to where Daryl stood, waves of misery all but washing over Connor as he approached.

He hesitated only a moment before he set his hand on Daryl's trembling shoulder. If Murphy suffered the same fate, if Connor had to be the one to end his existence so he'd not be condemned to walk the earth as a corpse, it would have destroyed him. He'd likely as not have laid down and died beside his twin rather than continue on alone. But Daryl – there was strength there that Connor was only beginning to appreciate. Maybe some of it had come from Carol, but he suspected that the archer had likely possessed it all along and had only needed Carol to help bring it forth. No one survived the kind of abuse to which Daryl had clearly been subjected without remarkable fortitude and courage, after all.

Connor had wanted Carol for himself; that much was true. And some part of him would always wish that circumstances had brought them closer rather than forcing them apart. But Daryl and Carol needed one another on an entirely different level. Their bond sustained them and what had transpired between the two broken souls during the night before was the simply the inevitable fulfillment of that covenant. As for Connor – well, Daryl wasn't his brother and never would be, but perhaps Connor could play the substitute if doing so would bring the younger man any sort of comfort.

"Let's head back to the house, shall we?" Connor said, giving Daryl's shoulder one last squeeze before he turned to kick dirt over the remains of his fire. "Likely as not, Carol's some breakfast ready on the stove, and we've too much work to do before it grows cold to be mopin' about the yard."

Daryl looked at him and gave him a weak smile before he nodded, picking up some of Connor's belongings and carting them back to where he could now see Carol waiting them on the veranda.


	15. Chapter 15

_Thank you to everyone who is still reading this story despite the long delay in posting. This has been a story that has been far more emotional than I'd first planned but it was interesting to introduce a character that not only gave Daryl a run for his money with Carol, but who in the end brought them back together in the best way possible. I appreciate every kind review and comment, the folks who read TWD fic (and even the occasional crossover!) are the best there are._

* * *

**Chapter 15**

_The spray from the sea misted over Connor's face, and the murky, salty water of the Atlantic doused his pea coat and caused him to shiver as it soaked through to his skin. He could hear the waves crashing against the rocks from where he stood but the fog was so thick that he hadn't actually laid eyes on the ocean itself. Every aspect of his surroundings was utterly grey – clouds, fog, even the flinty stone beneath his feet lacked any sort of colour. He wondered if he wasn't in Purgatory, caught between worlds and completely alone. For sure he was a sinner; there was no debating that fact. But he could imagine no greater hell than the vast nothingness in which he found himself trapped, a solitary figure on an utterly non-descript plane of existence._

_"Connor!"_

_The voice was so faint that for a moment, Connor wasn't sure it was anything but wishful thinking. He closed his eyes and strained his ears, trying to filter out the beating of the sea against the shore._

_"Connor! Can ye hear me?"_

_"I hear ya!" Connor cried, but his reply sounded no louder than a whisper, dampened by the endless, stifling fog. He walked slowly forward in the direction from which the call had come and very nearly stepped off the edge of...wherever he was...in the process. There was nothing below but a darker grey swirling haze, curling lazily around itself and giving no hint as to what might lie beyond._

_"I'm comin' fer ya! I'm comin'..."_

_The voice grew distant as though being drowned out but the few words had been enough for Connor to recognize the one who spoke them. "Murphy!" he screamed, tears of joy springing to his eyes and his heart pounding from excitement. "Murph, I'm here! Keep talkin', I'm beggin' ya!"_

_A harsh wind blew up off the unseen ocean then, slapping Connor's face with more stinging water and drowning out the voice entirely. Bits of twigs and other debris battered him as the storm grew in strength, and Connor had no choice but to drop to his knees and curl around himself protectively._

_As suddenly as it started, though, it stopped. As Connor raised his head again, he found himself waist deep in a pile of maple leaves, their bright red hue a shocking contrast against the drabness of everything else..._

Connor shot up in bed, gasping and blinking hard. His window was wide open and he was being drenched by an early spring rain being driven in by a howling wind. His pulse still raced as he stumbled over to the window to tug it closed. Rainwater puddled at his feet and his hands trembled as he stared unseeingly out of the glass.

The long awaited Call had come. Murphy was on his way.

* * *

It was with truly mixed feelings that Connor sought Carol out later that same afternoon. His feet seemed to get heavier with each step he took towards the little balcony Daryl had helped her turn into a miniature greenhouse over the winter. As elated as he was at the realization that the separation from his brother was nearing an end, leaving behind two people he'd come to think of as family wasn't going to be easy or pleasant.

"They're lookin' good...ye'll have quite the crop dis summer," Connor remarked as he pushed aside the plastic sheeting. The sun had burned away the rain clouds and the small space was humid and warm, smelling of soil and new, green life.

Carol looked up from where she was watering the seedlings she'd started, a wide smile on her face as she tended to the delicate little tomato and cucumber plants. "As soon as we can get the garden tilled, I'll get these in the ground and then seed another couple of rows directly. That should keep us in fresh veggies for the whole summer, and still leave us with enough left over to put away for next winter!"

Hearing her talking about the coming year and knowing he was being included in her plans sent a pang of regret through him, making it impossible to look her in the eye."Ye'll have but two mouths to feed in the months ahead, luv. I'll be leavin' here come mornin'," he said quietly, walking over and rubbing his fingers over some of the tender leaves on one of the tomato plants.

She went utterly still and he reluctantly raised his gaze to meet hers. Her eyes had gone wide with alarm and any sign of her earlier happiness had vanished completely. "Connor, why? Everything's been going so well here, or at least I thought so..."

He clasped her upper arm and gave her a sad smile. "Ye gave me safe haven when I needed it most, Carol. Took me in, fed me, gave me a reason to keep on livin'. Pretty sure dat's why I was compelled to seek ye out – I'd have languished in me own grief an' loneliness wit'out ya. Saved me life, ya did, and gave me da strength for what comes next."

Her brow knitted and she frowned. "What do you mean, what comes next? Where are you going?"

"I've heard the Call again," he confided reluctantly, knowing she didn't really believe that he'd ever received divine guidance either as a Saint or after the world had descended into chaos. "Me brother's on his way to meet me. But 'tis a fair long ways to get to his point of arrival and so I can't delay my journey. I'll head out at first light tomorrow."

"Head out for _where_?" she asked again, more tersely this time.

Connor took a deep breath, knowing well what reaction he'd get once he revealed his destination. "Canada. Cape Breton, to be specific. He's makin' his way to da east coast from Ireland – figure Murph musta found hisself a boat of some kind, mebbe some other survivors who know how to sail and agreed to lend a hand."

Carol shook her head in incredulity, and he could sense her impatience despite her best effort to conceal it. "You understand, don't you, how completely insane this all sounds? You have some kind of vision or hallucination, and you're willing to leave a place you know you're protected and fed and cared about, and travel thousands of miles on the misguided belief that your brother is in the process of crossing the Atlantic Ocean to find you?"

"Not misguided belief, girl. _Faith_. It's served me well to dis point," he said with slightly more firmness than was likely called for. "Ye got the one person ya love above all others back wit' ya; mighta thought ye'd be happy fer me now dat I've the chance fer da same."

"Of course I wish you had your brother again," she sighed heavily, any anger she'd felt fading from her expression. "But making that trip will take you a month, probably more, and how are you possibly going to stay safe all alone like that? Not just from the walkers, but all the – others – who wouldn't think twice to kill you for the sake of whatever scant rations you're carrying?" She crossed her arms and pivoted away from him.

"I'm not so easy to take down," he murmured softly, bumping her shoulder with his in a covert attempt at comfort. "Are ya forgettin' who I was..._what_ I was...back in Boston? I swear to ya, I'll be as vigilant as I can be. I'll not take any stupid chances – the reward is too great fer me ta grow careless now."

Carol turned suddenly and threw her arms around his neck. "Don't. Connor, please don't do this! I know that Daryl and I could never take your brother's place but we do care about you and if something happens to you out there, how will we live with that knowledge? This is...this is some kind of desperate fantasy you've dreamed up, and the only thing waiting for you down that road is danger and death!"

Connor gathered her close, shutting his eyes and allowing himself to take comfort in the feel of her soft, warm body tucked so sweetly against his. He buried his nose into the curve between her neck and her shoulder, and for the last time mourned the fact that this wonderful, loving, strong woman wasn't his to claim. "I'll miss ya somethin' terrible, you an' yer damned stubborn man both. As much as ya mean to me, though, it's not in me ta refuse da Call, 'specially not when I know tis fer me own good dat da Lord has set me on dis path. Asked ye once before and I'll ask ya again – believe in _me_, Carol. Leavin' here – leaving _you_ – is nearly breakin' me as it is. I'm beggin' ya ta not make it worse by sowin' doubt."

Her arms tightened and a muffled sob broke from her throat. "I've lost so many people that I've loved over the years," she rasped. "And now someone who has come to mean the world to me is purposely walking away. I can't even imagine living our lives without you now; you're part of us."

He pulled back and planted a gentle kiss on her forehead before cradling her face in his hands. "Dat won't change none. No matter where I am, no matter how far I travel or where life ends up pulling Murph an' me, ye'll be in me thoughts and prayers always. Me heart is in ya, ya know. Keep it safe and who knows? Maybe one day it'll draw me back yer way again."

She began to cry in earnest then but nodded, taking his hands in hers and planting a tender kiss on one of his palms. "Tomorrow? Are you _sure_?" she asked weepily, searching his face for absolute confirmation that he was truly intending to go.

Connor nodded and swallowed hard, her grief at the thought of his departure more touching and painful than he'd have thought possible. "Aye. Tomorrow."


	16. Chapter 16

_Okay, I really did think this was almost over, but new inspiration has hit and I find myself dragged along as my characters hijack my best-laid plans of wrapping this story up neatly in a bow by having Connor walk off into the northern sunset. Indulge me a little longer, if you would...and thank you, THANK YOU, everyone who is still reading!_

* * *

Connor had slept uneasily, a combination of being anxious to get underway and the dread of the inevitably sad farewell he knew would accompany the dawn. He wasted no time getting dressed once the first pale sunlight seeped in through the window, pausing only momentarily to look back at his comfortable bed and sigh regretfully. Being back on the road meant grabbing whatever brief respites he could wherever he could, and for sure there'd be very little time spent stretched out upon freshly laundered sheets and downy pillows.

He was walking down the hallway towards the kitchen, tugging on his coat when he realized for the first time that the house was completely silent. No creak of footsteps from the rooms overhead, no softly intimate conversation between Daryl and Carol, no signs that another soul occupied the house. Coming around the corner, he saw a single plate set out with several generous helpings of salted meat and canned fruit, and several days' worth of bottled water and non-perishable foods stacked on the counter and ready to pack.

The detached and rather impersonal offering hurt Connor. To give him a final breakfast and supplies for the road was certainly generous, but to abandon him to such a solitary last hour in what had been home for all of them cut him to the quick. Perhaps after all the pain both Carol and Daryl had endured, wanting them to stand by as he left was simply asking too much. Daryl in particular had kept his distance after Carol had told him what Connor's plans were...

Despite his waning appetite, Connor sat at the table and forced himself to down every morsel of the food that had been prepared for him. There was no knowing how long he'd be able to stretch the few provisions that he could carry and if he had a full belly, perhaps he could put off eating again until tomorrow. He picked at the crab apples and venison half-heartedly with his fork before forcing the sadness back and shovelling the lot of it into his mouth. Shoving away from the table, he jammed the supplies that Carol had left for him into his backpack and stormed out the back door, too wounded to stay in the house another moment.

The shadows were still long and dark across the yard as the sun had hardly broken the horizon, but there was enough light that he could pick his way through the walker traps. He'd only just stepped on the road leading away from the farm when he noticed Daryl leaning casually against the side of the shack where he'd first rested all those months earlier, his arms crossed over his chest as he pointedly stared at Connor.

"In a bit of a hurry, are ya?" Daryl drawled. "An' without so much as a 'goodbye,' too. Kinda rude."

"Daryl, stop," Carol chided as she came from behind the hut and joined them, handing Daryl a heavy back-pack and an extra quiver of crossbow bolts. She adjusted the knapsack she carried on her own back and gave Connor a gentle smile. "Are we ready to get going, then?"

"_We_?" Connor challenged, narrowing his eyes at them. While he was beyond touched that they wanted to accompany him on his quest, there was no way he could allow it. Whenever he and Murph had pulled someone else into the edicts they'd received from on high, that same someone almost inevitably ended up either dead or grievously injured. "There's no 'we' about it. Got to do dis on me own. Appreciate the sentiment, mind..."

"Do you remember," Carol interrupted, "when you first found me, and worked so hard to convince me how ridiculously chancy it was to go out by myself when I had someone more than willing to watch my back? Well, take your own best advice, Connor, and accept the help that's being offered to you. Daryl and I spent more than our fair share of time on the road with our group over the last couple of years – not to be immodest, but we know better than most how to handle what you'll come up against. And yeah, before you even start, I know that you made it on your own from Boston the first time but it would be plain stupid stubbornness to roll the dice like that again."

"We're family, brother," Daryl said with quiet rebuke. "How could ya think we'd just let ya go an' do this without us?"

Oh, but didn't that shot hit home! Regardless, Connor shook his head, determined to talk them out of it, even if he had to be a bit cruel to dissuade them. "No. I'll not have it. Like ya said, Carol – did fine alone before, can do it again. Don't need ya."

Carol raised her eyebrow at the rather blunt remark but finally nodded. "It's your choice, I suppose. We aren't going to force you into anything." She turned to Daryl, reaching to take his hand in hers. "Babe, you know what? I've been thinking lately that we've been pushing our luck by staying in one place too long. If we let ourselves get too used to a routine, we risk losing our edge."

"Now ya mention it," Daryl replied, "been thinkin' the same thing. Ya get too comfortable, that's when ya tend to get yer ass handed to ya. What ya got in mind?"

"Just the two of ya, hold on," Connor growled, wagging a finger at them. "Don't think fer a minute yer foolin' me..."

"I never did get to travel much when I was younger," Carol sighed with exaggerated longing, totally ignoring him. "I always wanted to visit Canada. I heard the Maritimes in particular are lovely. Fresh fish for the taking, charming seascapes, good soil for farming...and maybe because the climate's so different, the walkers would be a lot more sluggish through those cold months."

"Good hunting, too," Daryl added, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he glanced Connor's way. "Had an uncle that went on a trip up that way once; took down a moose that fed his family for six months."

"Oh my God! We should go!" she exclaimed in mock delight. Connor couldn't help but roll his eyes and chuckle at the performance. He gave up being angry at them for wanting to come with him even if it would give him more to worry about and they'd have to find enough rations along the way for three instead of one. But the heavy sorrow in his chest had lifted and he found himself buoyed at the prospect of their company; their farewells could be put off for a while at least.

"Ain't no time like the present, angel," Daryl said firmly. He pulled Carol a few yards down the road by her hand before he stopped and looked back over his shoulder at Connor. "Say, since we're headed in the same direction, dude, ya might as well tag along."

Connor hoisted his load until it was snug on his back and jogged after them, grinning to himself. Carol grasped his hand and squeezed when he caught up, and he once more gave his silent but heartfelt thanks to the heavens above that he'd been blessed as he had in finding her and Daryl both.


	17. Chapter 17

_Okay, this is a bit of a different chapter - I'm introducing two new characters (whose names are completely random, I swear! ;) There's a method to my madness, I promise. And in the meantime, the journey to reunite Connor with Murphy continues! Thanks for reading, hope this departure still intrigues!_

* * *

"There's way too many, Liddy. We need to keep moving. We'll find ammunition somewhere else," Jessaly whispered harshly, her fingers tightening around the handle of the machete she carried.

Lydia fixed her friend with a wry look before she peeked around the grill of the rusted-out half ton truck behind which they were crouched. The dead plodded across the boardwalk in front of the hunting shop at the side of the highway, periodically kicking the sealed cartons of shotgun shells that had been dropped in haste by whoever had last fled the scene. "If we don't get those shells, someone else will. And just maybe that same person is going to use them to take whatever they want from _us_. I'm sick of always running scared; it's time we had a little fire power of our own."

"An empty gun and a single blade aren't going to do us much good against a dozen Crypt Keeper rejects," Jessaly countered, impatiently brushing her curly red hair out of her face. She rummaged in her pocket until she found an elastic band and hastily pulled the coiled mass back into an untidy pony tail. "Rushing them will only get both of us killed. They're far hungrier now that there's so few Breathers left around this area and they won't give up once they catch our scent. We step out there, we're committed...and so we need a better plan than trying to outrun them."

"You're right. What we really need is bait," Lydia said, turning to face Jessaly. She held her fist out before her. "Rock, paper, scissors...and the loser gets to draw them off."

"Drop it," Jessaly snarled, bumping her friend's hand out of the way with slightly more force than was strictly necessary. "You know I'm the only one fast enough to keep ahead of them for more than a few minutes. But you'd better get that damned shotgun loaded quick – I can maybe take out two or three on my own, but there's no way I'll be able to shake the rest before they get to me. Just promise that you'll try not to shoot me in the process."

Lydia narrowed her eyes as she rose, her thighs tensing as she prepared to make a dash for the valuable shells. "Haven't hit you yet, have I?

"I can't believe I'm doing this again," Jessaly mumbled, sliding the machete into the handmade leather sheath on her back. She ran out onto the road and began shrieking. "Hey! Yeah, ya ugly fucks! Over here, you stinking bastards! Fresh meat, come and get it!"

With the single-minded mob consciousness so characteristic of the dead, each reanimated corpse turned in Jessaly's direction and began moaning in earnest, each one shambling as fast as it was possible towards the spot where she was jumping around and waving her hands.

Jessaly started screaming as loudly as she could and with as much pent-up emotion as Lydia had ever heard her express, and then she took off running down the road, the gathering swarm of death and hunger not far behind her on the hot asphalt. Her heart thudding in fear and almost shaking from the adrenaline coursing through her blood, Lydia made what seemed a thousand-mile dash towards the boxes of shells.

* * *

At the sound of screaming, Carol, Daryl and Connor all stopped in their tracks. They stared at one another, trying to determine where it had come from. When the boom of a shotgun echoed through the trees, they sprinted towards the source of the noise, wordlessly reacting to the threat. They burst from the edge of the woods and stepped out onto a secondary highway, the pavement still damp and black from the recent spring downpour.

"Can't see nothin'," Daryl said, his eyes scanning the area and his crossbow at the ready. "Did we go the wrong way?"

"Here they come!" Connor said, broadening his stance as he prepared for the fight.

As he watched, he saw two women come around the bend in the road, the shorter one with strawberry blonde hair desperately trying to help her red-haired friend stay on her feet as they stumbled along together. The excited groans and hisses signaled the presence of walkers, but nothing prepared him for the sheer numbers that were loping along in pursuit, their gaping maws and straining arms threatening to pass along the very sort of death many of them had suffered in the end.

"My God!" Carol gasped, instinctively taking a few steps backwards. "Look at them all!"

She raised her pistol but Connor grabbed the barrel and lowered it, shaking his head. "Don't waste the bullets; putting down one or two won't make a bit of difference, and we might well need them later." He quickly shrugged off his backpack and fished out his tightly wrapped nylon rope. "Here...take one end, tie it 'round dat signpost 'cross the way, about halfway up. Make the knot tight as ya can, luv! Soon as it's done, get back on the road and ready to run!"

Carol grabbed hold of her end of the rope and went to do as he asked without question, and Connor tore off towards the opposite side of the road, the thick cord quickly unravelling through his hands as he found a good, thick tree trunk. He wrapped the rope around the trunk a couple of times but left it slack in the middle so that it still laid flat against the concrete. "Daryl! I need ya to grab the girl as is hurt! Get her and the other off the road and back into the trees! This'll slow down the walkers but only fer a minute or two!"

Daryl gave a curt nod of acknowledgement and ran towards the women, scooping up the one in his arms who was limping so badly and then hollering at her companion to follow him. The moment all three of them had hurtled over the rope, Connor yanked it hard and tied the fastest, most secure knots he could before the wave of walkers were clotheslined by the taut nylon. Most of the creatures in front were caught chest high, but the force of the undead mob behind them pressed against them so hard that the rope gradually sliced clean through their rotting flesh like a wire through cheese, their putrid bodies dropping to the ground in pieces. A few walkers were short enough that the line actually decapitated them. Oblivious to the fact that their numbers had been diminished, creatures from the rear of the pack continued to apply pressure in their relentless determination to feed on the living, although hitting the barrier seemed to sow enough confusion to buy Connor and the others some valuable get-away time.

"Let's move!" Daryl yelled, tightening his arms around the shoulders and legs of the woman he carried. Carol ran on ahead of him, ready to shoot anything that got in their way as they ducked back under the shadowy cover of the forest. Connor gave one last glance back at the walkers before he followed, noting that some of the dead had spilled around on either side of where the rope was secured, slowly clambering out of the muddy ditches and back onto the roadway. Snatching his backpack off the ground, Connor hurried to join his family and the women they'd rescued.

Because it was spring, and both the ground and undercover was still soft and new, they were able to move in relative silence through the bush. After several hundred yards, however, Carol signalled them to follow her along a narrow path that led to a small, solid building that had once been a wildlife ranger station. Once she'd determined that it was clear, the five of them sealed themselves inside and held their collective breath, listening carefully in case one or two stragglers from the herd had discovered their trail.

After several minutes of relative quiet, Daryl gently lowered the one he'd been carrying into a dusty office chair and shook out the twitching muscles of his arms. Her friend didn't wait a moment before pushing past him and the two women all but flung their arms around one another and sobbed in relief.

"I'm sorry, Jessaly!" the pretty strawberry blonde cried quietly, her denim-blue eyes spilling tears over the sprinkling of freckles on her cheeks. "I should have listened to you! It was stupid to take a chance like that – I had no idea there were so many..."

The one named Jessaly hugged her friend closer and shook her head. "Shh, Liddy - it would have been fine if I hadn't twisted my ankle in that pothole." Her voice was shaky and she cried a few of her own tears. "We needed those shotgun shells – we had to take a risk today so we could survive tomorrow." When she glanced over her friend's shoulder and noticed Connor looking at her, Jessaly gave him a tentative smile. He was instantly struck by her lovely blue eyes – not nearly so pale as Carol's, mind, but stunning nevertheless. More remarkable, though, was that he could read no mistrust or uncertainty in her level gaze.

Everyone who had survived this long had without question endured all manner of horrors, and bore the unmistakable air of refugees from a lost world. But while Connor recognized some of the same bone-weariness they all shared, she possessed an inner tranquility and grace that had seemingly remained untouched by the fall of humanity. In fact, she practically shone with it, and he felt it resonate through his soul like a single, sweet note from a beloved song.

"Thank you – all of you," Jessaly murmured, 'though her eyes still rested on Connor. "Lydia and I are so grateful for your help. If we can just rest here for a while, I'm sure we'll be fine to go on."

When he turned to look at Carol and Daryl, it quickly became apparent that they did not share the insight into Jessaly's character with which he'd apparently been blessed. Connor was disappointed but hardly surprised to see both of them regarding the two women with cool suspicion. Although Carol held the pistol loosely in her hand, she hadn't put it away, and while Daryl had the crossbow pointed at the floor, he hadn't yet removed the bolt that he'd nocked before their narrow escape.

"What're the two of ya doin' out here on yer own in the first place?" Daryl demanded, mindful to keep his voice low in case any walkers were within hearing distance.

His hostile tone definitely dimmed the warmth in Jessaly's eyes and Lydia jerked her head up to glare at Daryl. "We're not alone – we've got each other," she hissed, tilting her chin defiantly. She shifted her position, crouching in front of Jessaly as if she was prepared to pounce should anyone make an untoward move in their direction.

"There were more of us at the beginning," Jessaly answered cautiously, clearly baffled as to why Daryl was being so unwelcoming when he'd only just helped save her life. "Some of us fell...others ran off or were taken. We're all that's left."

"Mebbe we could put the interrogation on hold for a bit," Connor interjected a bit tetchily, "and take a look at the poor girl's injury. Carol here's had some medical trainin'..."

"Both of you lay your weapons on the floor and then I'll take a look at your foot," Carol said, adjusting her stance slightly as if she expected some sudden aggressive reaction from the women. Daryl's nostrils flared as though he'd detected and shared Carol's unease and his shoulders tensed, his finger tightening slightly on the trigger of his crossbow.

Lydia narrowed her eyes at Carol before she inadvertently glanced at the shotgun she'd abandoned near the door on the way in. "Is that what this is about? You're going to take our weapons and leave us defenceless? That's why you saved us in the first place, isn't it?! You probably were waiting for us to get our hands on those shells before you made your move! You fucking cowards! You're no different than the rest!"

"How do we know this ain't some kind of trap?!" Daryl snapped back at her. "The red head pretends to be a wounded bird and draws us in, and then your friends rush us and take everythin' we got while we're tryin' to help?"

"Dat's enough!" Connor growled, moving so that he was in the middle of the fray, keeping the two they'd rescued on one side, and Carol and Daryl on the other. "Everyone needs ta settle the feck down!" He turned to his friends and pointed towards the door. "Carol, you an' Daryl go keep watch if yer so concerned, but me gut is tellin' me dat it's as they say – they're on their own out here. They'd no way o' knowin' we was about when we heard dem screams, so a trap makes less den no sense." Looking back down at where the girls sat, he gave Lydia a stern glare. "And you! We came to yer aid when ya needed us; if we wanted whatever 'tis yer carrying, we well coulda waited fer the walkers to be done with ya and taken whatever was left over when they moved off. But pick up yer gun if ya want, and keep it trained on me head if ya like while I see ta Jessaly's foot. If yer so anxious to be rid of us, ye'd best let me treat her and then ye can be on yer way."

Carol and Daryl looked slightly shamefaced but they did as Connor suggested, peering out the door to check for any overt danger before they slipped through and softly closed it behind them. Connor crossed his arms and waited until Lydia squirmed somewhat uncomfortably, moving aside so he could crouch in front of Jessaly. While he was carefully removing the woman's boot from her injured foot, he noticed that Lydia wandered a few feet away and slumped against the wall so she could watch what he was doing...but she didn't bother retrieving her shotgun.

He grinned secretly to himself but any amusement he felt disappeared when Jessaly gasped in pain. "Sorry," he said, wincing in sympathy as he gently stripped the sock from her foot. The ankle was swollen but not bruised, definitely a good sign. Connor rotated her heel slowly, watching her face for any indication that he was hurting her. Although Jessaly bit her lip as he conducted his examination, she didn't make another sound, and he was relieved when he finally determined that the bones in her foot were still intact.

"Likely just a sprain, den. Rest and time is all ya need," he said, giving her a reassuring smile. "I think we might have a coupla aspirin left in our stash; that might take down the swellin' enough that yer able to walk on it in a few days." He gave Jessaly and then Lydia an apologetic smile. "I'll ask yer forgiveness for me friends – ya must understand, they've got plenty of reasons not to trust strangers...or even some they thought they knew. No harm was meant – t'was an overabundance of caution rather than malice driving their reactions."

Jessaly sadly returned his smile. "I do understand. We've been burned before too, though, and since it's been just me and Liddy...well, we're pretty protective of one another. But I knew when you put yourselves in danger for the sake of two people you had no stake in saving that we could trust you."

"Faith in others...dat's a rare thing nowadays," he remarked, pulling off his backpack and rummaging through it until he found a worn length of tensor bandage. Setting Jessaly's heel on his knee, he wrapped it only tightly enough to give the damaged tissue a bit of support while it healed.

"If there's bad out there, there has to be good, too. Sometimes you have to look a little harder to find it but it's there," Jessaly said, her foot trembling in Connor's hand as he propped it up on a cardboard filing box. Her entrancing eyes met his again and he felt that same sense of serenity fill him once more. "Today, we got lucky and the good found us. Thank you...um, what's your name?"

"Connor," he said, taking her hand in between both of his and letting the warmth of her soft skin lift the chill from his fingers. "I'm Connor."

"Connor," she whispered to herself, and he felt his heart flutter with hope.


	18. Chapter 18

_Thank you to everyone still reading (and especially to my few precious reviewers! Love you all!_

* * *

**Chapter 18**

"OW! Feckin' fucker!" Connor hissed, dropping the iron frying pan into the fire and shaking his burned fingers in an attempt to relieve the searing pain. That's what he got for trying to make breakfast while his mind was dwelling on his troubles. Somehow his common sense fled while his thoughts drifted through the ether, and he'd forgotten that metal objects that were heated up actually got _hot_.

He slid his other hand deeper into his coat sleeve and used it like a makeshift oven mitt as he yanked the pan out of the flames. While he stared sadly at the singed remnants of the decidedly scrawny squirrel Daryl had provided, Carol came wandering over from the ranger station. She pulled on her jacket and glanced down at the charred rodent. "I'm pretty sure that I told you I prefer my vermin cooked medium-rare, Connor."

Had his hand not been throbbing so badly, Connor would likely have laughed. As it was, his nerves were already frayed and as his temper surged, he kicked at the pan and sent what was left of the squirrel flying into the underbrush. Rather than chastise or mock him further, Carol simply crossed her arms and arched her eyebrow, waiting expectantly for some sort of explanation.

"Time's wastin'!" he blurted, blowing cool air across his wounded fingers. "Murph's gonna come ashore after all dis time and find me gone! Shoulda left by now…"

"And yet, here we are," Carol replied calmly. "Why is that, exactly?"

For reasons he couldn't quite understand, Connor struggled with a response. At his insistence, they'd stayed three days – _three_ – when they should have been on the road for Cape Breton. At first, it was because he wanted to be sure that Jessaly's injury wasn't more serious than it first appeared. The second day, he insisted they couldn't take off until he could see for himself that Jessaly could walk without limping and run if needed. And then today...well, today he just couldn't leave her, period. But the pressure to continue on his journey was increasing steadily every moment he delayed, and he was caught fast on the horns of a dilemma.

"We saved their lives," he said weakly. "How can I up and abandon dem girls to an unknown fate after dat?"

"That's all there is to it, then? A sense of personal responsibility for their well-being?" she asked skeptically. "We helped them out when they needed us but that's no longer the case and you know it. Jessaly is getting around just as well as she did before, and now both she and Lydia are well-armed, well-fed and well-rested. So stop feeding me a line of bullshit and spit it out, will you?"

"I don't feel like...no, I _know_...I can't leave her behind, Carol. I can't give you a rational explanation, and I know well enough what you think of dem 'feelins' I get, but I tell ya – Jessaly's got to stay with me," he said in a rush, tension easing from his shoulders as he finally admitted the truth to both Carol and himself.

Carol's face relaxed and she smiled at him knowingly. "I think you're probably the last one to come to that understanding, with maybe the exception of Jessaly. Come with me, I think I have the solution to all your worries."

Connor frowned as she slipped her arm through his and led him along a deer path through the trees. "Whatdya mean, the last one?"

The glance she gave him was almost one of pity. "Often these things take place over a period of time. Something happens to bring two people together who under any other circumstances wouldn't have had anything to do with one another, and they gradually grow closer. That's how it was with Daryl and me. For us, learning to love one another was a long and arduous process. But other times, two people meet and it's like two pieces of a puzzle have come together – it doesn't matter if they've been together for a few days or a few decades, they just click." She slowed to a stop and turned to face him. "I don't trust easily anymore; you know my reasons. But I do trust _you_, and if you've made that deep of a connection with this woman so quickly, I'm not going question your judgement. If you tell me that she belongs with you, then she belongs with _us_."

Carol squeezed his arm and proceeded on down the path, Connor finally coming out of his startled stupor enough that he could follow behind. "Just like dat?" he asked in disbelief, certain it couldn't be nearly so simple. "Ye'll accept dem into our group?"

"Just like that," she called back over her shoulder.

Ducking beneath a low hanging branch, Carol vanished for a moment and Connor hustled to catch up, brushing the tree bough out of his way. He found himself in a clearing that had apparently been used as an impromptu parking lot by the wildlife officers, and saw Daryl's ass-end sticking out from beneath the hood of a brown government-issue pick-up truck.

"Got it running?" Carol asked as she strolled over to where Daryl was working his mechanical magic on the vehicle.

"There was some water in the gas line; musta condensed over the winter. Good to go now," Daryl replied, his voice muffled. "Why don't ya climb behind the wheel and try to start it?"

Carol gave Connor a mischievous smile before she reached over and groped Daryl's butt cheek. Connor heard a hard thunk against the top of the hood which he could only assume was the result of Daryl's surprised reaction, and Carol jumped back as she tried unsuccessfully to stifle her laugh with her hands. When Daryl clambered out from under the hood rubbing his head, he narrowed his eyes and advanced on her, a wicked grin on his face. Carol gave a girlish squeak and ran around the side of the truck with a snarling Daryl in hot pursuit, and Connor chuckled when Daryl caught up to her with little effort.

"Gonna make you pay for that, angel," Daryl growled, trapping her against the driver's side door and sliding one hand slowly down her thigh. He kissed her hungrily, at which point Connor averted his eyes and cleared his throat.

"If the two of ya can hold off fer a bit, Carol and I were havin' a serious discussion," Connor said.

Carol's eyes twinkled with happiness but she wriggled out of Daryl's embrace. "Later, babe," she promised huskily before she turned her attention back to Connor. "Your chariot awaits, Mr. MacManus. Almost a full tank of gas, enough to make up for the time we've lost and then some. Plus there's room for both your lady friend and her chaperone, so everyone can stay together and stay safe."

"Don't think yer math is quite right there," Connor pointed out as he stepped closer and examined the inside of the truck. "Only three seats that I can see. Unless you and Daryl plan on ridin' in the box…or mebbe stayin' behind."

As soon as he said it, Connor wondered if they weren't considering parting ways with him now that he had other travel companions available. It was patently clear that all Carol and Daryl really needed was one another, and although he knew they cared for him, he couldn't help but wonder at times why they stayed. Upon seeing Carol's withering look, though, he felt like a prize idiot for even putting the thought into words.

"Nah, bro…we got our own ride," Daryl said with a self-satisfied smirk on his face. He disappeared into a thick stand of trees but returned moments later proudly pushing a dusty but newer model Harley Softtail Deluxe over the damp grass. There was, of course, a seat for a passenger on the back.

Connor whistled under his breath with admiration, unable to suppress a surge of envy as he gazed on the sleek black machine. The thought of riding along the blacktop, Jessaly's slender arms wrapped around his waist, was enticing to say the least. "Y'know, might be a tad rainy durin' the trip. Perhaps you an' Carol would prefer to stay warm and dry inside the cab and I can take the bike…"

"Ha!" Daryl snorted. "Nice try. Carol and me are used to riding together – done it lots of times when I still had my brother's old Triumph. Yer likely to go and get all excited the first time Jessaly squeezes her thighs 'round yers, end up layin' the bike down an' gettin' yerselves killed. It's fer yer own good that you stay safe 'n snug in the truck where she can keep her hands to herself, Lydia can keep an eye on ya both and _you_ can focus on the road."

Connor shrugged and grinned at Daryl. "Can't blame a fella fer tryin'."

"It'll be a lot easier to carry our supplies around with the truck," Carol interjected, rolling her eyes at the mental picture that Daryl had painted. "With the bike, Daryl and I will be able to scout on ahead and make a fast escape if things look dodgy before we're all caught in a bad situation."

"It's good that we'll have more people now, too," Daryl said, casually snagging Carol's hip with his hand and pulling her backwards until she was leaning comfortably against him again. "Somethin' to be said for havin' extra fire power on our side when the goin' gets tough."

The man seemed to need to be touching Carol at all times, Connor noted and not for the first time. Watching them, he couldn't help but wonder if the fledgling bond he felt for Jessaly would someday grow as strong as the one Daryl and Carol shared. His heart swelled with gratitude for his friends, glad after all was said and done that they'd found one another the way they had in the end. And that despite their passion for one another, they had enough love left over for him. "Ya both did dis fer me; don't go thinkin' I don't know dat," Connor said humbly. "Can't thank ye enough."

Daryl lowered his eyes and tucked his chin against the curve between Carol's neck and shoulder, made uncomfortable at the show of emotion. Carol, on the other hand, gave Connor such a tender look that he was practically moved to tears.

"Why don't you go tell the girls that we're getting ready to head out?" she suggested softly. "We have a long way to go and I don't have to tell you that whether we're in vehicles or not, we're still better off travelling in daylight when it's easier to spot danger."

Connor nodded and on impulse, took a quick step forward and brushed his lips over Carol's smooth cheek. Daryl's eyes shot open but before he could do anything about the liberty taken with his lady, Connor had turned and walked off, his step far lighter than it had been for the previous couple of days.


End file.
